these are 2 terrible sketches. terrible. i want everyone to know how terrible i can be. i want everyone to worry over it. i want everyone to worry and to send me cards in the mail and to call me up to see how i am doing. and i want everyone to feel better about their abilities in comparison to mine and just have a great day.
i can't believe i have a boyfriend, but i do, and he is so nice. he is also better at doing sketches than i am. and he's better at it than you are. and you're lucky if he ever lets you see how good he is. he is one of my 3 followers. he is the follower who is not a woman. no more hints.
this morning, i worked at the café. a stranger reached across the counter to put my hair behind my ear. he also bit my arm and made an angry dog sound while flashing me a look of intrigue that really frightened me and made me wonder if he truly would eat me right up. too far. not to mention, universal precautions violation. and so:
dear everyone,
when you go to a café or a bookstore or a bar or wherever you go, the people who serve you are paid to do so, they are paid to be civil and helpful and enthusiastic. do not mistake their paycheck manners for romantic interest. do not ask them on a date. do not ask them how they feel about marriage. do not tell them that god is the glue that binds. they are your servers, but the services that they provide are finite and are typically summarized by the name of the establishment at which they are employed (e.g. the girl at the gas station sells you gas, or the girl at the hair salon sells you haircuts). you can smile if you want, you can say thanks, you can even give them money, but you cannot assign them the task of social resuscitation. just place your order or ask your question or tell a little joke and then have a seat.
sincerely,
R
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