“You know how the, what are they called, homeboys look at you and I’m like OH MY GOD…” she prattles on. Now usually I have the patience of a Saint but something about the way this girl tells stories causes me to drift like Nor'easter snow in gale force winds. Coupled with the fact that I never know what the fuck she’s talking about; well, it makes for some grueling phone conversations.
To lessen the pain I agree with everything she says. Because, really, I don’t care to hear exactly what is meant by “You know when you eat celery it’s like, you know what it’s like”. Huh!?! Inevitably I answer in the affirmative because I know that no matter what she is talking about once she gets it off her chest I’m free to go about my comparably uneventful, yet somehow way more fulfilling, life.
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