Meeting someone from your immediate past, them wondering how you’re faring.
False, knowing they don’t give a rat’s ass; they’re searching for dirt.
Plain and simple.
And you give them…nothing. You speak of vague things, trivial nonsense, absolutely nothing of substance. But why do they persist? So they can go home and feel superior, and spout nonsense to their hubby/wife, insignificant others who have their own stories and tales of infidelities, who nod and say nothing, hoping their wife/husband won’t find out about their indiscretions, a false and pathetic pastiche of marital innuendo that reeks of crushed hopes and expired dreams.
The chat continues. It lingers. You have absolutely no desire to continue. Yet the person in question continues their onslaught of queries, to which you obligingly reply:
“Yes, all is swell, the ___ are fine, ___ is doing great. And you?”, the last question uttered in hope that the offensive person will sputter will, perhaps, let down their false guard will, quite possibly, collapse before your very eyes and simply vanish.
Christ, who needs such risible nonsense?
There’s more important work ahead. There is no time to listen to such gossip and drivel.
She stops. She collects herself. She apologizes. “Well, give my love to all”, she may reply. This, a woman you couldn’t care less about, someone you don’t give a rodent’s buttocks about, someone who holds absolutely no respect in your eyes.
Just, please, drift away. I have no use for you. You bother me.
Copyright, Paul Grignon, 2014, All Rights Reserved.