17th
Suburban Report
Jason stopped over with a bottle of gin. He had texted me, earlier in the week, to ask me if I wanted one while he was at the store, and I told him I did. But when he arrived today, he confused me by presenting it as a gift. I told him no, no, let me give you some money for it. Here, I said, I have enough money to pay you for the thing you got me at my own request. No way, he said, it’s a gift. I don’t want your money, he said, putting me in kind of an awkward situation if you want to know the truth. Come on, I said, taking the money from my wallet and trying to get him to take it. But he backed away from me, keeping the dining room table between us, and continued to refuse. He made me feel so ungracious. I finally accepted, and thanked him, and said at least let me make you a drink.
Okay that sounds good, he says, and oh take a look at my most recent tumblr post, he says, and laughs like a kid who just made his second joke ever.
