Let’s just start off by saying assumptions are bad and will often get you into trouble.
For example, until I shipped her ass out of town, an ex couldn’t believe that two of my friends, one a mechanic type who looks like an axe murderer, the other a refined, brilliant, world traveler, not only got along but truly liked each other and had a lot in common.
I was standing next to a pregnant friend. We’ve known each other for a long time, she knows what to expect when around me, so was laughing when I said,
“You know when the kids born we’re going to have to build a plywood box or a dozen layers of spackle over that soft spot. You know I just gotta poke that bastard.”
A woman overheard us so had to speak. I won’t bother going into not only listening to the conversations of others but then joining in. That’s an all new potential problem source.
I guess that’s one difference between me and normal people. They have no compunction about joining in on the conversations of others. I don’t get it. Has it ever turned out well for them? It’s never when they interrupt me.
One time I was talking with a traumatic rape detective. We’re having a private conversation over beers. Just a few laughs when a stranger must have taken our frivolity as an invitation.
He sticks his face in and the fun screeches to a halt until the cop says,
“Hey, haven’t I arrested you?”
The guy spies the cops badge and beats a hasty retreat. We’re happy he retreated but I had to ask.
“Nah,” the cop said. “Never met him but it always makes them fuck off.”
The woman was asking all the normal baby questions, gender, health, if it’s the first before asking me,
“Are you going to be in the delivery room?”
“Delivery room? Are you kidding? I wasn’t even in the conception room.”
Although everything I’ve said is true, she’s quite taken aback and begins to tell me something about my bad attitude or something. I don’t know, I wasn’t listening. I was formulating a plan so horrific the next time this woman, who may be wonderful, I don’t know nor care, thinks long and hard before sticking her face in private conversations ever again.
“I’m just kidding. I was in the conception room.” I pause. She relaxes. Silly woman. Didn’t she ever read Peanuts? “I was the cameraman.”
The woman’s fully flustered. We’re laughing and I can see she’s not sure if we’re crazy or insane. So I decided to get her off that painful fence.
“We’re just kidding. So, let me ask you a question.” When I get that sentence out and notice that she didn’t leave I knew I had to teach her a lesson. “After the baby comes I’m thinking of getting a vasectomy. But I’m worried.”
“There’s nothing to worry about. It’s completely. . .”
“Oh, I’m not worried about getting cut up or not knocking her up. Who needs more mouth-breathing morons.”
I lean in, point back at prego, and whisper, “It’s a good she’s good looking. Dumb as a naked bacon fryer.”
I stand straight, look her in the eyes (What the fuck is she still doing here?) and say,
“I’m concerned after the vasectomy my cum will taste like dead swimmers. You have any knowledge about that?”
She’s leaving as quickly as she can. I figure I can get one last shot across the bow to make sure she never butts in again.
“Hey, it’s all about her! She’s a gagger as it is. I just don’t want it to get worse.”
