I buy some daffodils on my way to work. As I’m walking, I realize that I’m carrying flowers and a book of poetry as I trot along the Streets of San Francisco. Suddenly, I’m the over-the-top “sensitive girl” and my life is a bad undergraduate play.
Subject: Cynicism kicks in.
“I swear I used to think
everyone kinda had a similar life to mine, but anymore I’m
they have a lot less fun, eat a lot more bran, have
lot more low quality sex, and mail each other
inspirational cards that they actually read.”
This guy fights with his girlfriend. A lot. So much that he has a rather lengthy page devoted to the subject, “Things my girlfriend and I have argued about.” A sampling:
- I eat two-fingered Kit-Kats like I’d eat any other chocolate bars of that size, i.e., without
feeling the need to snap them into two individual fingers first. Margret accused me of doing
this, ‘deliberately to annoy her’.
- She pours water into the back of my monitor every time she
waters a plant, which she refuses to have moved to another, less overtly stupid, location.
- Margret doesn’t like to watch films on the TV. No, hold on – let me make sure you’ve got
the inflection here: Margret doesn’t like to watch films on the TV. She says she does, but
years of bitter experience have proven that what she actually wants is to sit by me while I
narrate the entire bleeding film to her. “Who’s she?”, “Why did he get shot?”, “I thought
that one was on their side?”, “Is that a bomb” – “JUST WATCH IT! IN THE NAME OF
GOD, JUST WATCH IT”!
- She wants to paint the living room yellow. I have not the words.
- Margret thinks I’m vain because… I use a mirror when I shave. During this argument in the
bathroom – our fourth most popular location for arguments, it will delight and charm you to
learn – Margret proved that shaving with a mirror could only be seen as outrageous
narcissism by saying “None of the other men I’ve been with” (my, but it’s all I can do to
stop myself hugging her when she begins sentences like that) “None of the other men I’ve
been with used a mirror to shave.”
“Ha! Difficult to check up on that, isn’t it? As all the other men you’ve been with can now
only communicate by blinking their eyes!” I said. Much later. When Margret had left the