One of my brothers is in Afghanistan with the Royal Air Force Regiment right now. Another of them has just been accepted into a fast track officers’ program for the London Metropolitan Police (one of 20 out of 4000 applicants).
I got paid to play with Lego for half an hour today for the window display in the shop that I work at.
We lead different lives.
1. Round up any nearby items (towels, clothes, paper, etc.) and drag them into the litter tray to aid in faeces burial.
2. Run like fucking crazy around the apartment to get away from it, as though we aren’t going to know that it was him.
Me: What do you want to watch?
Me: Watchmen? I fancy watching Watchmen.
Becky: Why would I want to watch men who watch other men?
Me: You know that that isn’t what it is.
Becky: I don’t want to watch something I’ve seen.
Me: But we’ve seen everything good. What do *you* want to watch.
Becky: I don’t care…
Me: So you’ll watch anything apart from the one thing that I want to watch?
Becky: I want to watch something that I haven’t seen, and that isn’t shit.
Me: What about something that you have seen, but you don’t remember?
Becky: I remember everything.
Me: Name one character from Watchmen, other than Rorshach.
Becky: Uhh… the slutty one, the evil rapey one, the one who fell out the window who was also the evil rapey one, the blue guy, the other clever evil one, and the one who has the weird animal… who was also the clever evil one.
Me: Way to go, so that’s… none, because I said ‘name’.
Me: So what do you want to watch?
Becky: Not Watchmen.
I was at work the other day and, being a particularly Dickensian shade of autumn, I kept having to deal with pigeons walking into the store while I had to, like, herd them out without looking like a total idiot in front of customers. Eventually, one of them came really far in, and I looked over at a lady who was looking at it, and then she looked at me and I awkwardly laughed, trying to be like ‘Birds, am I right?’, but she looked confused and said ‘What?’, because it turned out she wasn’t looking at the pigeon, but rather just something in it’s direction, so I said ‘Oh, uh… pigeon.’ and looked around to point out the pigeon that had, with perfect comedic timing, decided to sneak off at the height of my social anxiety, leaving an empty gap in the doorway for me to be staring at as this lady looked on in sheer bafflement.
So, thanks for that, you pigeon asshole.
‘For Halloween?’ you ask. Nope, just because I got bored of having boring brown eyes and decided to get me some weird blue contacts. I was hoping they would look natural, and not ‘I’m either a vampire or a guy with stupid contact lenses in’, but oh well. It’s creepy as shit putting stuff in your eye though, right? I’ve never had contact lenses. Took me about ten tries per eye to get them in, and about it-doesn’t-matter-how-many-tries-because-I-gave-up-and-got-my-girlfriend-to-do-it-for-me tries to get them back out.
Oh, and for the record: these contacts are the one (two, technically) and only component to my ‘Halloween costume’, because I’ll be staying home anyway, stubbornly refusing, as always, to take part in any of society’s tedious tranditions.
So I was at work yesterday when a young kid came in with his father. He was probably about eight years old, I guess (I’m pretty terrible at estimating kids’ ages), and was dressed from head to toe in a full body Spider-Man suit.
Anyway, father and son began wandering the store; the dad was busy looking for presents or whatever, and the kid was becoming increasingly bored and impatient. After a few minutes, he walked over to where I was, tidying. He smiled at me as I turned around, and said ‘You do a good job keeping the shelves in this shop nice and tidy!’ to which I smiled, panicked slightly because I suck at talking to kids, and said ‘And you do a good job of keeping the streets of New York safe, Spider-Man.’
With wide eyes, the little boy stared at me before he cried, with shrill excitement across the store, ‘Dad! I made a friend!’
So yeah, that was cool.
Me: Yes, mother?
Mum: I didn’t text you, so what does ‘yes, mother’ mean? Mind you, it’s always nice to hear from you.
Me: I had a missed call from you earlier. Was that not you? My phone says it was you, and my phone never lies, mother.
Mum: I didn’t call, and I certainly didn’t call early in the morning. I must have sat on my phone or something.
Me: Have you been murdered? Am I now speaking to the person who killed you after you tried calling me for help? Admit it. You have to tell me if that’s true. Come on, man; don’t be a dick.
Mum: I can’t be a dick, I’m a girl; and also, I’m fairly sure that I’m alive. Maybe it was a call from a parallel world.
Me: But why would they have called me? On purpose, you think; or maybe it was solar interference scrambling the satellite signals. Maybe you were calling me from the future. You can’t disprove that.
Mum: Okay, whatever. I’m busy internet shopping. Don’t make me think, it’s scary.
Me: Yeah, the thought of you thinking does chill me to the bone. Tell your knock-off handbags I said hi.
Mum: Handbags are cheaper than psychiatrists.
Me: In your case, however, they clearly aren’t as effective.
Mum: That’s only because I haven’t found the right one.