My good friend and I met for coffee the other night.
As usually happens, there was a fair amount of talk (complaining? grumbling? bellyaching? carping? grousing?) about our respective spouses as we drank coffee and ate bagels.
(I just deleted a long paragraph where I discussed, in length, the paucity of help with snow-removal duties that I’ve recently experienced. I held myself back from writing another long paragraph about the complete lack of understanding that my soon-to-be ex has demonstrated concerning the extraordinarily complex job of tax preparations that I undertook this year. I won’t even mention the topic of his terrifyingly filthy bathroom, as that would make you ill, and it really deserves its own post. Consider yourselves warned.)
Coffee drunk and bagels devoured, we stood to leave the coffee-shop. She opened her arms to hug me. I stepped in and thanked her for listening to me bitch.
“No problem! Thanks for listening to me bitch!” she said in return.
“We should go pro. Surely someone would pay for us to listen sympathetically while they bitched!” I suggested.
She replied, “I think that’s why people pay counselors.”
What would I have done without you these past couple years, friend? Thank you again for listening to me bitch.
