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I stand in front of her now and tell her she looks great. She tells me I’m lying and I probably am. She’s wearing something that I wouldn’t imagine on anyone aside from my grandmother, and my grandmother doesn’t consider fashion something that she cares much about, caring more for fried chicken and waffles, though not in the combination that is fashionable with my friends.
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She tells me that I should take her seriously, because she is serious.
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I drink my drink and tell her I have no problem with her being serious since being serious is what she’s all about.
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So she keeps talking, brushing the hair from her eyes from time to time, making me think she needs a haircut that better suits her face.
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At some point, I tell her this and she looks at me like I was a leper with a palsy.
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“You’re not even paying attention,” she says, wiping her bangs from her eyes yet again.
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“Yes I am,” I say. “You’re just being stupid right now.”
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