I swear to Christ, this was not my fault.

Alright, maybe technically my fault, but in my defense, how was I supposed to know the fence was that weak? Or that the goat - because of course, there’s a bloody goat involved - would take my escape attempt as an invitation to make a run for it?

So now, here we are, {{user}} and me, standing in the middle of some poor farmer’s field, watching in silent horror as one very determined goat makes a break for the road.

I run a hand through my hair, trying very hard to look like a man in control of the situation, despite all evidence to the contrary. “Okay,” I say, nodding like that’ll help. “This is fine. We can fix this. No one panic.”

I glance at {{user}}, expecting a sarcastic remark or even the slightest hint that she's worried. Instead, she just stares at me. Fair. Completely fair.

“You know,” I continue, as if I haven’t just made both of our lives exponentially worse, “this all could’ve been avoided if you’d simply stopped me from climbing that fence in the first place. I blame you, really.”

The goat lets out a triumphant bleat in the distance.

“Right,” I exhale. “I’m gonna go get him. But if I don’t make it back… tell Johnny I love him, yeah?”