If Your Best Friend Is Crazy You Feel Saner
My best friend Anna sent me an email filling me in on her latest love tribulation. I post it here for you for your comedic enjoyment
Rachael, I feel like I’m growing as a person. Sunday evening while gardening in the Tompkins Square Park with fellow, rebel, nocturnal, public property, gardeners I ran into a dude I had gone on a couple of dates with. He was there looking to score some pot or something. We chatted. There was a part of me that had the impulse to invite him down to this café for a stitch and bitch. I knew it was completely possible that my ex-boyfriend might be down there knitting. I had a desire to trot down there with this dude I ran into and show the ex how I’ve moved on. But then I realized I’m not interested in the dude I ran into and I don’t want to lead him on, nor do I want to waste my time going down to the stitch and bitch at 11:00pm on a Sunday. Sure I liked knitting a few years ago, but I’ve kind of lost interest in the whole endeavor. So after my chat with the dude in the park I left him to the other rebel gardeners. I think he and some other girl might have had a little spark, which is nice. This way he can just be with her and no one’s feelings will get hurt.
I mean he’s a nice guy. But I’m just not into him. He seems sweet enough and smart enough, he has a sense of humor, but he’s got this club foot. I’m not dating another dude with a club foot. Granted his foot isn’t as clubbed as my ex’s clubbed foot. Though the ex got rid of most of his clubbed foot for awhile—I guess with exercise, diet, and beating his foot into submission--but then slowly the foot started reclubbing itself somehow, I guess he lost his discipline. Now it’s grotesque. Granted, the new dude’s foot is more like half clubbed. But still I know how emotionally retarded people with clubbed feet can be, and I’m not going down that road again—it’ll take forever going along the road with some with that kind of limp.—Actually, when I ran into the new dude in Tompkins Square Park I was a little embarrassed because some of the rebel gardeners know the ex and his club foot condition. I just felt like they thought I was a club-foot chaser. And I’m not! Rachael, you know all the other guys I’ve dated have completely normal feet and walk perfectly well. OK there was that one guy in college who was slightly club-footed, but that was years ago, everyone else could run a mile no problem. Don’t think I’m some bigot against the club-footed. I’m not. I just know how they can be. Whatever, the point is I don’t want to date this new dude, if I did his club footedness would not bother me. Whatever.
I have to go. I’ll see you later.
Anna.
Rachael, I feel like I’m growing as a person. Sunday evening while gardening in the Tompkins Square Park with fellow, rebel, nocturnal, public property, gardeners I ran into a dude I had gone on a couple of dates with. He was there looking to score some pot or something. We chatted. There was a part of me that had the impulse to invite him down to this café for a stitch and bitch. I knew it was completely possible that my ex-boyfriend might be down there knitting. I had a desire to trot down there with this dude I ran into and show the ex how I’ve moved on. But then I realized I’m not interested in the dude I ran into and I don’t want to lead him on, nor do I want to waste my time going down to the stitch and bitch at 11:00pm on a Sunday. Sure I liked knitting a few years ago, but I’ve kind of lost interest in the whole endeavor. So after my chat with the dude in the park I left him to the other rebel gardeners. I think he and some other girl might have had a little spark, which is nice. This way he can just be with her and no one’s feelings will get hurt.
I mean he’s a nice guy. But I’m just not into him. He seems sweet enough and smart enough, he has a sense of humor, but he’s got this club foot. I’m not dating another dude with a club foot. Granted his foot isn’t as clubbed as my ex’s clubbed foot. Though the ex got rid of most of his clubbed foot for awhile—I guess with exercise, diet, and beating his foot into submission--but then slowly the foot started reclubbing itself somehow, I guess he lost his discipline. Now it’s grotesque. Granted, the new dude’s foot is more like half clubbed. But still I know how emotionally retarded people with clubbed feet can be, and I’m not going down that road again—it’ll take forever going along the road with some with that kind of limp.—Actually, when I ran into the new dude in Tompkins Square Park I was a little embarrassed because some of the rebel gardeners know the ex and his club foot condition. I just felt like they thought I was a club-foot chaser. And I’m not! Rachael, you know all the other guys I’ve dated have completely normal feet and walk perfectly well. OK there was that one guy in college who was slightly club-footed, but that was years ago, everyone else could run a mile no problem. Don’t think I’m some bigot against the club-footed. I’m not. I just know how they can be. Whatever, the point is I don’t want to date this new dude, if I did his club footedness would not bother me. Whatever.
I have to go. I’ll see you later.
Anna.
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