in which i discuss the finer points of asshaberdashery

School is over mofos!!! Done, done, done! I even had a conversation with my writing instructor on Thursday about what a great writer I am. Capital fellow.

So, do you guys remember that asshat insurance company guy who once told me I looked 30? Well, he was in my office again on Friday, and during the course of a visit that lasted only 5 minutes (seriously), he managed to offend me in four separate, fairly elaborate ways:

1. He complained to me about how he has to go to another wedding in Hawaii and it's soooo expensive, because his wife has to buy a new dress. I'm confused about why a $125 dress (his dollar figure) would be his main concern when he also has to buy plane tickets and stay in a hotel in Hawaii during peak season. Wait, no I'm not. But I am baffled as to why he thought I would be sympathetic.
2. When he complimented my hair and said something about how it must be easy to take care of, I stupidly responded by laughing and telling him that I haven't brushed my hair in months. He said, "Oh, really? Are you going to grow dreads?" In all seriousness. All seriousness, folks. Unless I'm missing something major about the appearance of my hair, such a question would appear to be ridiculous on its face, yes? To be fair, though, I knew it was giving him too much credit to expect him to respond to that assertion like a human being, and I went ahead and said it anyway. So I guess I was asking for it.
3. He complained about how he lives like an old man because he never goes out, goes to bed at 10:00 every night, and spends all his free time with his wife and his dog. Oh, and he looks really old, too. I almost, almost, almost told him that noooo, he only looks about 30 or so. (He's actually 23, get the joke?) But I pitied him so, forced as he is to spend every evening with his dog and sartorially profligate wife, and I couldn't be that cruel.
   
4. Lastly, at the end of our time together, the two of us played out this little skit we do every goddamn time he sees me where he asks me how my boyfriend's music is going, and I say, "Oh, it's fine, yes, he's still playing guitar," and then Asshat goes, "Has he played any gigs lately?" and then I go, "No, he's never played a 'gig,'" and he goes, "Oh, I swear you told me he had a band," and I go, "Yeah, he and I used to have a band together as a hobby, years ago, but we never played any shows or anything, it was just for fun," and he goes, "Oh, I could swear you told me your boyfriend was in a band," and I go, "Nope," and he goes, "Are you sure?" and I go, "Uh huh," and then he spends some time trying to convince me that I must be forgetting something about how my boyfriend is in a band without me that plays gigs all the time, until eventually he gives up in disgust.
   

I'm beginning to think this guy might be toying with me. If so, he's possibly the greatest comic genius the insurance industry has ever seen. If not, he's arguably the greatest chucklehead. The former wouldn't be saying much at all, the latter would be saying, oh, quite a lot.

Moving on. In other news, I've decided that what the world needs now is more boys with rat-tails. Ha ha, boyfriend! You thought I was going to give up on that, didn't you? Never! GROW ONE YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO.

Okay, so I'll leave you with this. SBTB QOTD. The best thing ever to happen on this internet of mine. Boyfriend, I've had to work so hard to keep this a secret until such time as I could blog about it. I don't quite know why, but I didn't want it to come to you directly from me. I wanted it to come from the internet. More pure that way, I guess.

I want pancakes.