Category: Imaginary Conversation

An imaginary conversation about a first meeting

How will I recognize you?

You’ve seen several pictures of me. I’ll look like the person in my pictures, and I am wearing black today.

You and half the city

True. Look for the colorful chest.

I thought you were coming straight from work?

I am–so?

Are you going to put on a plunging neckline for the occasion? Maybe it’s a stereotype, but IT is not generally known for cleavage.

No. Oh. Well. I tend to border on the inappropriate a lot of the time as far as exposed bosom in the workplace goes.

So noted.

I hope that isn’t a problem for you?

No, no–I’m in favor of boobs.

Good. See you at 4:30.

Looking forward to meeting you.

Remind me to tell you about the time my Director put her hand down my shirt in front of two of our VPs and pointed out to them how colorful my chest is.

I think you just did.

Damn. Now what will we talk about?

Oh, there are lots of things. We’ve already covered boobs, but we still haven’t discussed books, beds or blowjobs.

Or tattoos.

We’ll sort of. In the context of boobs.

What if I got tattoos of books on my boobs?

You’d be the perfect woman.

Perfection is a lofty goal…

You’d be nearly perfect. Better?

Better. How will I recognize you?

I’ll be the one trying not to stare at your chest.

That might not narrow it down very much.

It’s sexy that you are aware of how good looking you are.

It’s not so much that as it is that I know that a tattooed chest draws a lot of attention. Anyway. It’s true that I am kind of cute. Will you be hard to recognize?

You’ve also seen pictures. I look a little like Woody Allen with dark hair and eyes. Levi’s and a plaid shirt.

And nerd glasses.

Right.

See you in a little while.

An imaginary conversation about being a jackass

The concert is in an hour…what time do you think you’ll be here?

I’m not going to be able to go…

What do you mean? You were supposed to be here an hour ago!

Something came up, I can’t make it.

Oh no! Was there some sort of emergency?

There’s something at work I need to take care of, so I need to do that today instead of going to the show.

That sucks–couldn’t they have told you sooner?

They told me a couple of days ago.

Why didn’t you tell me?

I just did.

You know what would have been really nice?

Are you going to be bitchy about this? It isn’t my fault I can’t go. I have to work. I would much rather go to the concert.

I am going to try really hard to ignore the comment about being bitchy.

Well, you are.

Maybe I should stop trying so hard. It would have been really nice if you had let me know when you found out instead of an hour before you were supposed to be here. For instance, on the same day you found out. That way I could have made arrangements for someone to use your ticket. As it is, now I will barely make it on time myself!

Sorry. I’ve been busy. It won’t happen again.

That’s what you said the last couple of times it happened. And the times you didn’t bother to call at all.

You don’t need to be so bitchy about this. It isn’t my fault.

You know what? It IS your fault. The problem is not that you can’t make it, it is that you decided not to tell me about it in time for me to make other plans. That was your completely your fault.

I don’t need to listen to you attacking me for no reason.

I love that you get defensive when you do something rude and someone calls you on it. I am not attacking you, and I am not being bitchy–but if I was being bitchy, it wouldn’t be for no reason. You are just trying to deflect this away from yourself in your own mind.

I’ll talk to you when you are capable of discussing this like an adult. I don’t want to listen to you call me names for no reason.

There hasn’t been a single bit of name calling, except when you implied that I am acting like a child for telling you I think it was rude not to tell me your plans had changed. Your actions were inconsiderate. That is simple fact, not name calling.

You need to change the subject. You are not being rational about this. I had no control over this. It’s work.

You had complete control over deciding not to mention it for two days, and as a result, now I’m stuck with a ticket. A ticket I paid for. Instead of calling me that night or texting me right when you found out, you opted to do nothing. The only reason I found out you weren’t coming is because you were so late that I texted you to find out what was going on. If I hadn’t, I suppose you would have just not showed up or called me at all.

Do we have to go over it over and over again? I was going to call you, and I fucked up. I said I’m sorry, you don’t need to jump on my ass about it.

Here’s the part where I stop trying to be nice entirely: fuck your lack of consideration. Fuck your disregard for anyone’s time but your own. Fuck all of your shitty excuses, and fuck you. In case you need help identifying a feeling, that was anger.

Thanks.

Any time.

I really am sorry.

You really aren’t. If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t keep doing it. It’s pretty simple, really.

It won’t happen again.

No, it probably won’t.

I don’t think I like the way that sounded.

I don’t either.

Can you forgive me?

It isn’t a question of forgiveness, it’s more of a question of acceptance.

The work stuff isn’t something I can fix.

No, but how you handle rearranging the other things in your life is something you control entirely and your choice is usually to spread your inconvenience out onto me. That isn’t OK.

You’re right.

You know it isn’t about who is right or wrong. It’s about you not treating me well. I need to leave now.

You’re still going?

You think I should waste the money on both tickets?

No, you’re right. Go. Talk to you soon.

Goodbye.

Hey!

What?

Don’t say goodbye!

What should I say?

You usually say you love me or something.

This time I said goodbye.

Do you mean it?

Goodbye? Well, it’s a very frequently used word in these situations. I am on my way out the door.

See you soon. Maybe tomorrow.

You like maybes. I don’t. ‘Bye.

I really don’t like this. Really? Goodbye? Love you.
Shit.

An imaginary conversation about talking in your sleep

You say the nicest things when you’re not even aware you’re talking..I wish you were that sweet when you’re fully conscious.

What?

Like when you’re just about asleep. Or just about passed out.

Wouldn’t I remember?

I don’t know. I don’t think so. You’ve said you want to spend your whole life with me a few times.

I have?

Yep.

When I asleep?

Sort of.

How do you know I was talking to you?

You were talking about me, not to me.

Who was I talking to?

Your brother, I think, sometimes. Or people at work.

What did I say?

That you loved me, but you were afraid you’d fuck up. That you wanted to be with me, but didn’t want to lose me.

I don’t remember.

I know. Sometimes you talk about work, then you talk about me. Like you’re talking to someone on the phone.

Why don’t you wake me up?

It’s the only time you say such nice things about me.

I say nice things to you sometimes!

You do…but not as nice as the things you say when you’re out of it.

Like what?

Once you said ” she doesn’t even know how I feel. I can’t tell her, she won’t believe me.” You were arguing with someone. I think that time it was your brother. Another time it seemed more like you were telling someone about me.

Whole conversations?

More or less. Mumbled a little, and interwoven with random stuff. I try not to read anything into it. I mean, if there was something you wanted me to know, wouldn’t you tell me?

I don’t know.

I do. You wouldn’t.

Eventually I probably would.

Why eventually and not now? Or in a week?

That’s a good question.

Bok. Bok. Bok.

I’m not a chicken. I’m just not ready.

You may never be.

Maybe not.

I wonder.

Me too.