She wants to know where you keep your wine, but you never told her that you have more under the house. Your cellar, if you will. But she prefers white, anyway. So that is that. In the Fridge. White wine for the white girl. Cold wine for a cold girl. She talks about her Saturday night while watching you type on your computer. She doesn't care if you listen because you never really listen anyway. So it's all in the same. Formalities really. She shouts, "I hate Macs! They are so stupid. Nothing is interesting about them at all." You respond with faster typing. About 30 seconds pass until she changes the subject to the things her mother wrote in an email. You take a breath from your typing and type yrself a quick mental email reminding yrself to someday touch on the weirdness of how Wanda does not ever actually speak to her mother, but instead writes long, horse-drawn e-mails. After you send, you stand up and head towards the kitchen. "You know, Wanda..." She interrupts with an immediate slap of sarcasm. "Yes, XXXXX?" You shudder with annoyance, but continue anyway. Macs are the smart people. Yes, everyone knows how to use a PC. But there are better, more efficient ways to the internet, media editting, and so on. You, Wanda, are just slow in the brain.
Everyone wonders if anybody heard what you just said.
And if yr in a band.
Everyone wonders why you are such a smug, hypothetical asshole. Did your mom humiliate and spank you, pants down, in front of the entire family at that BBQ when she caught you peeing on yr sister's doll? No? Then fuck off.
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