how. rude.

“Babe, I like this song,” she says.

“Yeah, it’s one of my favourites,” he nods.

“It’s my first time hearing it.”

“How is that possible?”

“When did it come out?”

“I don’t know.  Like… 1983.”

“I wasn’t born yet.”

“I… think I may cry.”

“Relax.  You’re not old.  You’re… like a fine wine.”

“You said that about John Stamos last week.”

“That’s true.  Although… Come on.  You’re no Stamos.”

“What?  Gasp!”

“Did you just say ‘Gasp!’?”

“I can’t believe you’d say that.  I’d never tell you that you’re no Stamos.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“You’ve hurt me deeply, woman.”

“You’ll heal.”

“In time.  Maybe.”

“You can be Bob Saget.”

“You sicken me.”

She giggles.

He pouts.

“I love you,” she says.

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to speak up.”

“Shut up.”

She reads her website.

He flips from sports channel to sports channel.

“I love you too.” he mumbles.

“Awww.  That couldn’t have been easy for you to say.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I appreciate you putting in the effort to express yourself.  I guess in your day, that would have involved cave paintings?”

14 thoughts on “how. rude.

  1. Oh how I’ve missed your writing!! This little scenario is exactly why I love reading your blog. I promise I won’t stray again… unless I get distracted with a Stamos of my own…

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