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So, next year on the fifteenth of September, I need to remember to buy flowers for some guy named Jeph? That doesn't seem right, somehow.

(An excerpt from this particular strip of Questionable Content.)

You know how, after a couple of years of being in a committed relationship with a wonderful girl (or your preferred sex for committed relationships -- I'm open minded), she turns to you one day at the Food Court at a mall, sipping a frozen cappacino drink delicately, and says "when is the exact moment you fell in love with me?"

And of course, you have no idea. Or else it's actually the first time you ever had sex, and that's not what she wants to hear. So you think back to the first time you met her, that you remember, and come up with some vaguely plausible moment where she did something asskicking, or might have done but she was drunk so she won't remember, and you says "do you remember, that party at Stan's? You told Mike Davis to shut the fuck up and die. You had fire in your eyes. I knew right then you were it. You were the one. You were the perfect girl. I can't believe you went out with me."

Or something like that.

I don't want that, this time. I want this to be real. So, two years from now, when asked "when did you fall in love with Questionable Content," I will point to this panel. And there? True love.


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You work in devious and mysterious ways, Eric Burns. Because the panel you displayed here is not, in fact, in the comic you linked to (it's in 164, not 162), I had to go hunting, and now I have to read and bookmark the comic, and...

Dammit, Eric, I have a deadline!

I think this corresponds to the point in the above conversation where the girl goes all quiet and says, with more frigidness in her voice than can possibly be healthy, "That wasn't me." And then she starts arguing with you about how if you really cared about her, you'd remember these things properly, and then she goes home without you and doesn't take your calls for a week (if you're lucky.)

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