My bestie is incorrigible.
I am not saying that in a bad way.
They have got to know I’d rather masturbate with a chainsaw than hear from them.
Yet they persist anyway.
So today I decided to say yes to them getting brave enough to ask me for something. Give ’em a win for a change.
They were thrilled that I lost my will.
They gave me “approved” copy to run.
It’s literally what I wrote/published before.
I said can I edit out a couple of grafs that don’t apply?
(Seriously. It promised something that never happened. I mean, maybe it will. But it isn’t my project.)
They said sure. You’re the one who wrote them.
I mean, I’m glad we all agree on that. But it was such a weird moment.
Maybe I make too much of situations and people.
I’ve always said that, though. Most people I tell stories about aren’t as as interesting as the stories I tell about them.
Like Cindy. My god, I remember finding her Twatter funny because of all MY personality she was trying to co-opt.
Like, I would call her beige, and she’d spend 11 tweets owning her beigeness.
So I politely/creatively called her boring. But she had to spend 300 words proving that she was actually just plain old boring.
She threw in a few “old married farts” for good measure to assure us that there was literally nothing to see there.
I just feel bad I wasted so much of Mom’s good years (and mine) on this nonsense.
The best was that one time I said I was setting a boundary. Just like she claimed to be from Pittsburgh, Philly, Key West, the Old Key Lime House and Voodoo Bayou, she co-opted “boundaries” as something her Columbus Day ass discovered.
Surprising she hasn’t claimed “delulu” as her own.
One of these days.
Anyway. Enjoy Blue Sky’ing or whatever about me. Yawn.
