Co-Witch K.: “It’s absolutely hilarious that your dad thinks your friends would steal your car for you.”
Me: “I know, right? Although what’s kind of scary is that off the top of my head, I can think of like four people who would actually do it. Aaron and Chase definitely would, and so would Patrick, and Kirk… and Franklyn. And David. And Erin. And Joe.”
Co-Witch K: “And Justin. And Brian.”
Me: “And Noble. And Van. And Georges.”
Co-Witch K.: “And Kitty totally would.”
Me: “And Don’s probably on his way over here.”
Co-Witch K: “…”
Co-Witch K: “…”
Me: “I’m going to go hide my car.”
Co-Witch K: “That would be for the best.”
Me: “Okay, so I’ve got new brakes, new wheel bearings, a new drive belt, new tires, a new alternator, a new battery and a new battery terminal.”
My Dad: “Great! And if anything else goes wrong with your car, you can just have one of your friends steal it and get rid of it, right?”
Dear Friends: My dad thinks you’re all criminals. And in related news, I’ma prolly need one o’ y’all to steal my car.
Dear People at the Next Table,
I know you’re just trying to be silly and keep your four-year-old (Lizzie, is it?) entertained while you wait for your food. But asking little Lizzie if she wants a “Mommy sandwich” or a “Daddy sandwich” or an “Uncle Dan sandwich” is a bit much and could be misconstrued if heard out of context, you horrible, horrible monsters.
Just keep it clean and legal, okay? Some of us are trying to eat here.
Psychiatrist: “What brings you in today?”
Me: “I get a little anxious sometimes.”
Psychiatrist: “Okay, let’s talk about that.”
[ten minutes later]
Me: “…so anyway, it turns out I wasn’t actually dying, just hyperventilating. Like you do. Oh, and I’m afraid of elevators.”
Psychiatrist: “Uh, yeah, your ‘anxiety’ is actually a full-blown panic disorder. But on the bright side, we caught it before agoraphobia kicked in and crippled you.”
And that, children, is the story of how Uncle Sweeney ended up on happy pills.