Cal is gloating. I have to go out. I have to talk to someone. He's not upset that Chase seems more interested than he should be, not at all. He's sitting in Melbourne with a cup of fresh coffee, nearly soiling himself in his mirth. I hope he does; that I tend to put people off of, well, talking, or listening, is not funny.
I hate going out. First one has to dress uncomfortably. Then there's transport to, transport home, chosing the food, forcing the conversation. Although I'm sure that if I managed to blunder along on the bus absently without him interrupting me we must share at least one interest. But still, I don't like going out. Even when I go out with friends, there's always someone being vulgar or splitting his infinitives at the table next to us.
I think that I'll just make sure I zip my corrective pens into the inner pocket of my purse, so I don't correct the menu and get us kicked out before we've sat down.
The nights have been blessfully cool, and I'm hoping that I never have to suffer another summer here. I might keep an eye out for cheap evaporative coolers.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment