Explain this to me like I’m a pig-tailed 4-year-old niece, okay? I know a 40-year-old guy–we’ll call him The Slap–who has never been married, insists on Cavalli and Versace jeans, the embroidered kind, and silicone women. He’ll offer, in a quarter-joke, to fly women across the country with him for an all expense vacation if they agree to fcuk him on the airplane. He’s only joking if she says, “no.” I’m privy to this information because, as the friend of his friend’s fiancée, I don’t seem to exist around him.
I’ll repeat that. One of my best friends is engaged. Her fiancée, whom I adore, is friends with The Slap, so I get to hear the guy talk he blathers on about. I also get to hear him make requests like, “I’m picking up my nephews, so we need to travel a half hour out of our way to get them, whether you like it or not.” A request. Yes. All for family. What a good uncle. Ahem.
I later learned these boys were not his nephews at all but the children of his old college roommate’s. I understand when children call their parents’ friends’ aunt or uncle. It’s sweet. But doing the reverse, calling your friend’s children your nephews is just plain stalker bomber peeping tom slap weird. You say, “my college roommate’s kids.” You don’t say, “my two adorable nephews.” It’s creepy, and not in a good way.
It’s prohibitively cold out. I’m in bed now, in two sweaters, beneath down, Linus beaning beside me, under the covers. The suitor is arriving soon, as we’re scheduled to hit Paragon Sports to purchase warm clothing that slicks things away. Sweat. Wind. The bitterass cold. Clothing that slicks with double weaves and dry-fit. The word techno. Something with teflon in it. I don’t care what it’s made of so long as it isn’t as prohibitive as this weather. I want to move somewhere warm. Perhaps today I’ll go read at Barnes & Noble with a warm apple cider in hand. As for the holiday shopping, it’s called the Internet. I don’t understand people who shop today on purpose. I can understand buying a tree today, but shopping for pots in Macy’s Cellar? WHY? I’m only braving the stores, where they try to get into the black, to avoid being in the red nose reindeer category. I won’t be shopping for any nephews though, seeing as I don’t have any. Creepy, I tell you.