You know how Sarah Michelle Gellar’s annoying in everything? (The poor girl – she can only appear in so many Scooby Doo’s I suppose.) And remember how I avoid everything that has her name attached?
Well, even without a twin going missing - or whatever the pointless plot of her latest TV plop was – I’m quietly confident that, today, my colleagues want to ignore me more than we shun the gay brother of Chris Evans.
And that’s because I’m chatty.
It’s weird. These last few weeks, a mate of mine’s been crashing at our place, so I’ve joined him in the car on his way to work and caught a lift into town. And all I do is rabbit on about sweet, sweet nothings for the full 30 minutes. I’m Woody Allen and he’s my daughter wife.
But the way I see it, I opened my door to him like Nicolas Cage opened up his earnings to the IRS (no, wait – that’s not right, is it?) so don’t I deserve to be a little conversational before he’s even had coffee? The jury’s out.
In any event, nowadays, I’ve noticed a change in how much I want to know people when I arrive in the office. And like Colin Hanks puts his success down to his surn…um, down to his talent, I put my tendency to talk more down to this warm-up routine.
It really does have me liking the world, all before I sit at my desk and hate life more than Owen Wilson himself.
Why am I sharing this when you though? Why do I think you need to know this almost as much as Courtney Cox needs another set of cheekbones? I can’t honestly say.
I’m not well, am I Rose?
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