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Well, it's nice to know there's some truth to the gospel of cheesiness.
I could take this in two possible ways.
I could moan and complain about the oblivious and fickle and unappreciative nature of all men and whine in indignation and scorn for the fate that prompted the only interesting guys at the table to sit at the end opposite from me after staying across from me and Fiona for a mere hour and bombarding us with HS-level jokes, until Corita and her blond, pretty, skinny, college-sophomore violist daughter arrived and they could both crowd around and entertain her, leaving us to feel abandoned and shoot crumpled-up pieces of sweetener wrapper through a straw at Salad.
Or I could exult in the fun it was to shoot him and the attention he brought back to us, and the ideas I received (with all appearance of reluctance and disgust) from the explanation of an inside joke that he and Fi had that was a little like a combination of a fic I read and a dream I had, and acknowledge that he doesn't owe me anything anyway and I have no cause, or even right, to pine when he turns his avuncular attention on another, more attractive half-his-age disciple of his nihilist svengaliism, insignificant and hopeless fuzzheaded teenager that I am.
How trite am I? Wow, I'm jealous. Somebody kill me. Especially if he finds out, or I'll be teased unmercifully. Don't let me dream about their inside joke or I'll have to write it down, let him read it, and be teased unmercifully anyway. Y'know, when they get married and I still don't tell them, it's probably gonna require therapy.
And what makes me think he doesn't already know and is just kind enough to tease me about it so it looks like he doesn't?
I could take this in two possible ways.
I could moan and complain about the oblivious and fickle and unappreciative nature of all men and whine in indignation and scorn for the fate that prompted the only interesting guys at the table to sit at the end opposite from me after staying across from me and Fiona for a mere hour and bombarding us with HS-level jokes, until Corita and her blond, pretty, skinny, college-sophomore violist daughter arrived and they could both crowd around and entertain her, leaving us to feel abandoned and shoot crumpled-up pieces of sweetener wrapper through a straw at Salad.
Or I could exult in the fun it was to shoot him and the attention he brought back to us, and the ideas I received (with all appearance of reluctance and disgust) from the explanation of an inside joke that he and Fi had that was a little like a combination of a fic I read and a dream I had, and acknowledge that he doesn't owe me anything anyway and I have no cause, or even right, to pine when he turns his avuncular attention on another, more attractive half-his-age disciple of his nihilist svengaliism, insignificant and hopeless fuzzheaded teenager that I am.
How trite am I? Wow, I'm jealous. Somebody kill me. Especially if he finds out, or I'll be teased unmercifully. Don't let me dream about their inside joke or I'll have to write it down, let him read it, and be teased unmercifully anyway. Y'know, when they get married and I still don't tell them, it's probably gonna require therapy.
And what makes me think he doesn't already know and is just kind enough to tease me about it so it looks like he doesn't?
