She did a few things in this phone call. First of all, she was calling, I thought, to confirm our lunch playdate with our kids at my house tomorrow. Uh, she was not. Well, maybe in an indirect way she was. She was calling to tell me 1. she had a cold and was I ok with her germs? (yea, that's fine, as long as it's not your daughter, I guess.) and then 2. would I rather go to this place called Jumperific or some shit with her friend Blah-blah instead? It's great, because, with her cold and all, she wouldn't have to run around after her daughter and the kids are easily entertained! Plus, she hasn't seen her friend Blah-blah in ages. (Uhhh. *thinking I haven't seen you in ages either, but... ok* Well, to be honest, I don't like those kinds of places because they're the first thing I'd do, actually, if I wanted to give my child a horrific stomach virus. First thing. Let's go to a place where hundreds and hundreds of potentially sick kids have been where they are all touching things and then putting their hands in their mouths and then getting way over stimulated and where the places are never ever fully cleaned by the minimum-wage teenagers running the place!)
So in the end she hedged and said, "Yea, well... yea, let's do lunch then! I'll come over! It'll be great!" You know what? Fuck you. Yea, I may be an anti-social ahole, but come on. I think tomorrow I'll call her in the morning and tell her that I changed my mind about her cold germs. This way everyone wins. She gets to go to Jumperific or whatever to meet Blah-blah and I get to be by myself. Win-win.
Whatever happened in that Marsha/prom episode of the Brady Bunch, anyway? I cannot for the life of me remember. Did the guy tell her to fuck off? Or did she gracefully change her mind and go on the pity date? Did he still tell her to fuck off, though? Seriously. He completely should have. I need to know what the loser guy did so I can do the same.
To quote my facebook "friend" who my husband loves because her posts are hilars and, coincidentally, the former cartoon Cathy, "Arrrrrrgggghhhhhh."
Update: OK, so I was outside shoveling a poop run for my dog (complete with privacy cul-de-sac) and I couldn't stop thinking about this. Am I the asshole? Or is she? Are we both assholes? I just can't tell anymore. Granted, I'm not fun to be around, but still... lame. OK then. As you were.