sixwordstories | (no subject)

Now I know you're not speaking about me...

No, of course not. I was talking about that other big goon who follows me around all day and never cracks a smile.

Goon, huh? That's a new one. Did your parents finally think to purchase you a dictionary? I'm flattered that you're choosing to exercise your new vocabulary on yours truly.

A word-a-day calendar actually, but that one I took from The Sopranos. (She is nothing if not honest) What about the sarcasm, though? That doesn't flatter you, because I've been working pretty hard on it.

And they say television has yet to teach our generation anything of value. [ 'They' clearly never got HBO. ] Rehearsal on my behalf is flattering. However, when such dedication is put into mocking me, the flattery lessens.

("They" would probably be shocked to see what she learned from Game of Thrones) Let's be honest here. You should just be flattered I'm thinking about you at all, even if it is only to mock you.

If you're expecting me to mark this occasion down on my calendar, don't hold your breath. You see me nearly all day, everyday. I'm certain you think about me far more than you let on. [ Whether they're pleasant thoughts is another matter entirely... ]

(Pleasant is such a strong word, although some thoughts are better than others) Don't flatter yourself. I see my living room couch everyday too, but how often do I ever stop to think about it?

Your living room couch wasn't hired to protect you from the endless evils of the world. In other words: you owe your couch nothing whereas you are so obviously and indefinitely indebted to me.

You're right, you were hired to protect me. Meaning you're being paid, meaning I'm not indebted to anybody. Let's be honest, it's not like you've had to take a bullet for me or anything.

Yet. If I survive I expect you'll at least value me a fraction more than your couch.

-- Maybe I'm expecting too much.

God, can you please stop acting like I'm heartless just because I don't fawn all over you and call you my hero. If you got hurt on duty, of course I'd appreciate you more than my couch. (Slightly) But until then you're just this guy who doesn't know how to crack a smile, that follows me around and tries to stop me from having any actual fun.

Would you mind defining 'fun' for me again? Actual fun, that is. I want to ensure that I cover all of my bases; it's my duty to make your existence is as miserable as possible.

You do a pretty damn good job of that all on your own. I'd rather not make it any easier of it's all the same to you.