I feel like I’m dating either an 80 year old man or a toddler sometimes
Gary gets home (drunk, which goes without saying tbh) last night, tells me the same exact six facts about his day at least twice each (1. Timmy is scared of Gary’s new knife because Timmy cut himself on it, 2. Gary’s full time line cook now, 3. Chef scheduled six people for line and none for prep, 4. Gary really likes his new knife, 5. Gary feels like bringing in the new knife to work has made his coworkers respect him more, 6. He’s not looking forward to calling his dad tomorrow), loses his glasses and is convinced he couldn’t have misplaced them and I must be hiding them, tells me one more time about his knife, and then passes out in the dead center of our bed without so much as a “my bad” for yelling about his glasses or really any conversation at all that wasn’t focused on his shit. He actually rolled his eyes when I tried to talk about my day. Like... I’m sorry, am I monopolising the hour awake we see each other each day?
