Mad About You
He’s sitting next to me on the couch. He’s got his Santa Claus Santa Claus suspenders on. This means he’s got suspenders which have Santa Claus on them, but they also happen to be the suspenders he’ll wear when playing Santa Claus. Though I doubt this will happen, because, while he is jolly (mostly a sarcastic jolly, though) he’s not fat. And never will be.
Thomas’ new roommate is sitting on a couch across the way. Earlier tonight she was mad because he made a comment about the way she looked and she didn’t appreciate it. (Yes. The guy in the Santa Claus suspenders attached to madras shorts made a snide comment about how someone else looked…) But then she tried to explain her anger and started making excuses for it, almost apologizing. ‘No. It’s not like I have a self esteem issue, I just don’t appreciate it when people tell me what to do.” Then she went on to explain how mom’s do this to daughters a lot. Differed guilt. I completely understood what she was talking about.
But he didn’t understand. He kept clawing at the issue until it had no option but to bleed. In her attempt to explain her frustration, she became even more frustrated. It resulted in her getting up off the couch and going into the kitchen for a while.
They study this. I think they call it linguistics. There’s a word for it. Syntax, maybe.
They made up ten minutes later. She gave him a hug and said she couldn’t stay mad at him for long, not with those suspenders on.
