It’s Christmas week. Here at TTM, Christmas week means three things: (1) Conor is creeping around the Michigan Ave ice rink reeking of Pall Malls and sunflower seeds, (2) Kent’s tongue is stuck to a stop sign somewhere in Cleveland, and (3) no one’s writing anything. Enjoy these treasures from beneath last year’s tree and have yourself a Merry Christmas.
My plan this afternoon was to write a painfully hilarious, staggeringly brilliant article that laid bare the frivolity of the Midwestern ethos through the symbolic milieu of stop sign right-of-way etiquette. It would have been sweet, trust me. Unfortunately for all of us, I was trying to write this post at the same Starbucks that a pair of local high schoolers had selected as the location for their breakup conversation.
I got as far as “If there’s one thing the Third World does right, it’s…” when I realized that any attempts at coherent thinking were futile. Not wanting to waste my time or my vanilla latte, I will instead be describing for you the details of this star-crossed couple’s conversation and we shall see what universal truths we can extract from this unfolding human drama.
If I’ve interpreted the heavy sighs, pouty faces, and vague accusations (“You always do this,” “See, this is what I’m talking about” “You look gross when you cry”) correctly, it appears that this relationship was done in – like so many relationships before it – by a disagreement surrounding the proper observation of the Yuletide Festival. He apparently did not understand that Her extended family is the most important thing in the world to Her, and She did not understand that He could care less about what was important to Her.
He compassionately stated his utter disdain for all these “serious conversations” they have to have. She expressed her sincere desire that he stop behaving like an infant. He inquired as to why she had to make a big deal out of everything, proposing instead that these things be discussed objectively and without emotion, perhaps not even at all. She retorted that it was his inability to discuss weighty matters that led to these arguments and postulated that perhaps “[they] can’t keep doing this.”
This proclamation was followed by the first intermission. He spent a minute or so looking around and doodling with his finger on the frost covered window. She spent the break in silent reflection; no doubt thinking of all the chick flicks this fight reminded her of. He opened the second act with an impassioned monologue recounting the multiple trips he had made to visit her last semester, the fancy dinner he had squired her to on the previous evening, and her propensity to freak out about everything. He closed by making specific reference to the fact that “all [her] family does is go to church.”
She gave due consideration to the merit of his statements and then requested that he “kiss [her] ass.” (Author’s note: It is also possible that she said “I miss class,” “Christmas past,” or any number of similar phrases. She spoke softly and the acoustics were poor.) Before allowing him time to comply or refuse, She speculated that perhaps He was missing Her point entirely. Her only desire was for Him to (a) spend some time with her and her family, (b) attempt to meet Her at some unstated midway point, and (c) start taking this union seriously. Having heard these demands, He politely requested that, if possible, She refrain from freaking out during any and all future interactions.
At this point they took their second intermission.
Sadly, it was during this second intermission that my cover was blown. He spotted my unobtrusive hideout at the adjacent table and suggested that I take a photograph as it would be a more permanent memento. I rejoined that my blog post would be souvenir enough. He then said something about “sticking [my] grass.” (Again, I could have misheard.) He proposed to his lady friend that they continue their discussion elsewhere and the two exited the store stage left.
So, you ask, how does this stirring scene conclude? Do they work it out? Do they part ways bitterly and unfriend each other on Facebook? I haven’t the slightest. Like the number of licks it takes to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop – the world will never know. For what it’s worth though, I’m pulling for the latter.
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