My friend Erin may be the only person I know, under 80, who still comfortably uses the words, "Yoo-hoo!" when trying to capture a reluctant person's attention. She is also not averse to breaking out in an effortless and enthusiastic jog to catch up with someone who may be walking briskly away from her in the opposite direction. She also exercises NO BOUNDARIES when it comes to texting decorum:
BEFORE 6 am...the morning of a much-reported dangerous Arctic chill...my phone dings, my heart leaps, and my entire being begs...
"Please, Lord...let it be a delay." But no...it's Erin. Relentless, annoying, exasperating Erin...wearing me down before I can even lift my tired head from the pillow.
I know you've heard this all before. It is a common complaint. But I am afraid that you, like so many others, have actually been fooled into believing that Erin is the GOOD one in this relationship. I don't blame you: The incessant smile...the perky, seemingly optimistic good nature...the bubbly personality...the empathetic ear...the charitable causes...blah-blah-blah. But you know what they say: You can't judge a book by its frequently-exercised and in amazing shape cover.
Guys. C'mon. Dig a little deeper.
We share a birthday month, Erin and I. She was giddy. Me? Not so much. The best gift she could ever give me would be TO JUST LEAVE ME ALONE. Knowing that was not in the cards, I mustered my strength and rallied...ordering her modest gifts mildly reflecting her carbonated character. I was trying to set the tone.
A week later, I was presented with tasteless tokens trimmed in tacky trash talk. I was appalled. I felt attacked...ON MY BIRTHDAY.
Clearly, now you must see...
Clearly, now you must realize...
Who is the victim and who is the villain?
The writing is on the wall. But was it put there by a fanciful fountain pen or a profane-ridden ball-point?
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