Please do not mistake the fact that I didn't run out of the room screaming with my hands over my ears with my actually being interested in what the fuck you are saying. My not pulling out a bat and knocking the shit out of your head is not necessarily a go-ahead to fucking take the next 40 minutes of my life to walk me through every agonizing step of the last time you made your own spaghetti sauce. I know it's my own fault, as I was not raised by a pack of wolves, and am trained to politely stand there while you weave a picture of slicing your garlic paper thin, or letting the shit simmer longer than anybody else in the history of the world. Congratulations, you fucking made spaghetti sauce. If I come back tomorrow, maybe you can take an hour to wow me with how you turn a knob above the sink and water comes gushing out?
Maybe you can read my body language a little better as you're yammering?
No comments:
Post a Comment