by some guy
Me: I love sunshine after a couple rainy days.
Also Me: Why is that?
M: I'm hoping the sun will dry out the rain-soaked dog poo in the front yard so I can shovel it out into the street where it belongs.
AM: Where it belongs?
M: Well, it certainly doesn't belong in my yard.
AM: It doesn't belong in the street either. Two wrongs do not make a right you know.
M: I'm not trying to be right.
AM: That's good because you know you are wrong.
M: Whoever owns the dog that leaves those huge piles in my yard drew first blood.
AM: So you're Rambo now? You going paint your face with mud and hide in the feather reed grasses and jump out the next time that mini-bulldog digs your bark out onto the sidewalk?
M: No, I'm not Rambo. Am I supposed to enjoy dog crap in my yard?
AM: No, but you are going to die of a stress-induced heart attack if you don't learn to let go of all these insignificant things that you get all worked up about.
M: Like what?
AM: Like what? Oh, like anytime we drive anywhere and you comment on every other driver and how you must’ve missed the memo that driving to the gym was now a NASCAR event. Or anytime we are in the front yard and that red pickup blazes the stop sign on the corner and you remark how he never stops there.
M: He never stops there.
AM: See? Or that time you were dropping the kids at the child watch at the gym and you made a big deal about how it stunk so bad knowing all along it was Patchouli and knowing the worker girl standing right there wears Patchouli.
M: I hate the smell of that crap.
AM: Exactly. But that doesn't mean you gotta get all worked up and make a federal case out of every little thing. Like that time at Goody's when we were getting ice cream and you asked the worker girl if she was a hippie and she said she didn't like to label things and you went off on her deconstructing her comment pointing out that every word in it was a label and how stupid it was to say labeling things is bad and how without labels for things nobody could ever communicate; we would all just point and grunt and soon even grunting would be a kind of a label. There’s no reason you need to take everything to its most ridiculous extreme.
M: ....
AM: Do you even recognize that you rant anytime someone parks backwards on the street or in a parking lot or someone cuts across a parking lot or leaves a grocery cart anywhere but in the cart return or doesn't use their blinkers when turning or anytime the neighbor takes a tool out of his shed or anytime you see someone on their mobile while driving or...
M: ....
AM: I just don't see what skin it is off your nose if someone you don't even know and won't ever see again happens to like listening to their music really loud in their car stereo as they pass you going a few miles over the speed limit. Why do you feel compelled to make a snide comment about their tastes and their passion for NASCAR e v e r y s i n g l e t i m e?
M: I see you've thought about this a lot.
AM: I want you to be self-aware.
M: Really? OK, I'll think about that while I'm out front shoveling soggy doggy poo into the street.
AM: Perfect.
Me: I love sunshine after a couple rainy days.
Also Me: Why is that?
M: I'm hoping the sun will dry out the rain-soaked dog poo in the front yard so I can shovel it out into the street where it belongs.
AM: Where it belongs?
M: Well, it certainly doesn't belong in my yard.
AM: It doesn't belong in the street either. Two wrongs do not make a right you know.
M: I'm not trying to be right.
AM: That's good because you know you are wrong.
M: Whoever owns the dog that leaves those huge piles in my yard drew first blood.
AM: So you're Rambo now? You going paint your face with mud and hide in the feather reed grasses and jump out the next time that mini-bulldog digs your bark out onto the sidewalk?
M: No, I'm not Rambo. Am I supposed to enjoy dog crap in my yard?
AM: No, but you are going to die of a stress-induced heart attack if you don't learn to let go of all these insignificant things that you get all worked up about.
M: Like what?
AM: Like what? Oh, like anytime we drive anywhere and you comment on every other driver and how you must’ve missed the memo that driving to the gym was now a NASCAR event. Or anytime we are in the front yard and that red pickup blazes the stop sign on the corner and you remark how he never stops there.
M: He never stops there.
AM: See? Or that time you were dropping the kids at the child watch at the gym and you made a big deal about how it stunk so bad knowing all along it was Patchouli and knowing the worker girl standing right there wears Patchouli.
M: I hate the smell of that crap.
AM: Exactly. But that doesn't mean you gotta get all worked up and make a federal case out of every little thing. Like that time at Goody's when we were getting ice cream and you asked the worker girl if she was a hippie and she said she didn't like to label things and you went off on her deconstructing her comment pointing out that every word in it was a label and how stupid it was to say labeling things is bad and how without labels for things nobody could ever communicate; we would all just point and grunt and soon even grunting would be a kind of a label. There’s no reason you need to take everything to its most ridiculous extreme.
M: ....
AM: Do you even recognize that you rant anytime someone parks backwards on the street or in a parking lot or someone cuts across a parking lot or leaves a grocery cart anywhere but in the cart return or doesn't use their blinkers when turning or anytime the neighbor takes a tool out of his shed or anytime you see someone on their mobile while driving or...
M: ....
AM: I just don't see what skin it is off your nose if someone you don't even know and won't ever see again happens to like listening to their music really loud in their car stereo as they pass you going a few miles over the speed limit. Why do you feel compelled to make a snide comment about their tastes and their passion for NASCAR e v e r y s i n g l e t i m e?
M: I see you've thought about this a lot.
AM: I want you to be self-aware.
M: Really? OK, I'll think about that while I'm out front shoveling soggy doggy poo into the street.
AM: Perfect.
