Playing with Fire

Whenever I see my girlfriend I ask her how she is doing.

She generally responds:

“Fantastic!” - Good, in her book

“Tired.” - Bored, in her book

“Terrible!” - Distressed, in her book

“Fine.” - Accusing, in her book

I know I am at least safe with the first two.

As for the other two: I can tell she is disappointed with me. Which I have learned to ignore.

When we are together, best friend and confidant always asks: “Why do you like her?”

He asks this often, as if it were the crux of our relationship.

“You ask me that every time we are together,” I finally reply, “Is it out of common courtesy or does it really concern you?”

“Well you are always fighting...it is almost as though she is trying to kill you! Please listen to me as I am only looking out for you as your best friend.”

“Listen, I love her because she is beautiful and keeps me on my toes. And besides, there is no need to worry about me...you know why.”

“Exactly. What if she learns the truth about who you really are?

Although she can be aggressive...daresay even violent, at times...

I must confess that I am not sure which of you poses more danger to the other!”

“Please explain.”

“Dracula, while you may feel thrilled keeping a tiger as a pet,

it is you who is truly the dangerous one.

You are immortal... while she, Buffy, is only human.”