Tell 'Em What They Want to Hear
About once a year, I go out with a guy I used to date. We try to rekindle the flame. We have cocktails and pretend that everything didn't end horribly wrong. Then, I stick my tongue down his throat. For a moment, we don't regret it. Then, it goes horribly wrong all over again.
Over drinks, he gives me the update on his life. He's been commisioned to do a painting. He's got a new record deal. He's going on tour. His limited edition prints are selling all over the globe. He's been nominated for an Oscar and is runner-up in a beauty pageant.
I counter. I've recently donated my bone marrow and saved a set of quints that would surely have died if not for my good deed. I've adopted an African baby. I've had to decline an offer to be spokesmodel for a major cosmetic company because they test on animals.
Then, K told me that nobody really wants to know how I'm doing unless I'm miserable.
Why didn't I figure that out?
I called him last night to test her theory. We went out for drinks. He told me that he's just returned from working with a colony of lepers. He's been knighted. He was single-handedly responsible for OJ's book being pulled from the shelves.
"Enough about me. How are you?" he asked.
"Honestly," I said scratching at the scab on my lower lip, "the syphilis is resisting treatment causing my vision to fail. I'm going to prison for tax evasion after the first of the year. Mark Foley is text messaging me again. My Osteopornosis (a degenerate disease) is flaring up again and the cat hates me."
He seemed pleased. "Well, I'm always here for you."
It was the most caring moment that we've shared in years.
Thanks Big Pissy for submitting my blog to Bloglaughs for review. I will try not to let it go to my head. Bloglaughs is looking for reviewers; no purchase necessary, minimal commitment involved.
I've also guest blogged for Michael Thomas today at Cardiac Fantasies. A girl needs a hobby.