oh. go talk to a tree. and pretend its me.

ever since sister c has acquired a boy toy, i never hear enough of her voice.

he looked into my eyes. he held my hand. he whispered i love you. he kissed my neck. he said i was his beautiful girl. he said i was sexy. ooooh! he kissed my...

let me tell you my opinion on this romantic diarrhea of the mouth that this girl insists on spilling to me.

all i want to hear about her date night, is the bare minimum. not the oohey gooey names he called her or the sugary looks he gave her, just if they kissed (tongue, lips ect...)and if she had a good time. not the frou frou or sprinkles on the cupcake. just the cupcake. no. just the crumb of the cupcake.

so now i don't ask how the date went. i pretend it didn't happen. and when we are both sitting in a library study room (she supposedly studying and me reading) my ignorance gets her goat. and all is spilled. and all is revealed. every minute of her mouth makes me cringe inside and outside, makes my hands fly up to cover my eyes, and makes my mouth open in a desperate and hysterical laugh.

my present tactic to stem her never ending flow, is this:

sister c. go talk to a tree. and pretend its me.

all she does is her outraged laugh. and continues to force her monologue upon me.