A good day.

A couple of months back, a friend asked me to help her with a rejection message she planned on delivering to a soon-to-be disappointed male.  I don’t remember it word for word but I recall hitting some soothing notes. Things like “I’m truly flattered, honestly!”, “I hope we can still be friends” and of course, “I really like you as a friend

It was nothing short of a masterpiece, I assure you.

So… I got rejected earlier today, but it’s totally fine because she was actually truly flattered, honestly! She’d also still love to hang out as friends.

Oh fu…

Now don’t go giving me any sympathy, one of the advantages of being me is my inability to dramatise, I simply do not have the mental capacity to break down and cry. Although I came close a few years back when my cat died, and I swear my other cat (a kitten at the time) was crying, I was patting her on the head and saying “Awwww, it’ll be alright… okay, stop that… stop that, damn-it you’re gonna make me cry”

I didn’t though, cause… y’know, I’m… all that is man, and stuff? You can’t prove anything!

For those of you who’ve read my earlier entries, you’ll be privy to the fact that I possess somewhat of an impediment to the speech, it’s not anything I particularly care about and I’ve had it under control for some years now. It does seem to be creeping back with a vengeance though. For those of you who know me personally (you lucky dogs), you’ll know that I go by a few names, and while that occurred through chance it did benefit me in having a choice. A few weeks ago those choices didn’t matter. I could not get a single fucking thing out of my mouth hole. To make things worse, it was this super attractive female who lives down the road, asking me what my name was. My response? (after looking like a spastic) “… err, yeah I’ve got a stammer. I’ll tell you later”… I did not tell her later.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, “Dude, she was hot… you were probably nervous”. No way hombré! … You can’t prove anything!

Seriously though, I was fine… it was a friends house party, the drinks were good, I could smoke indoors, conversation was flowing, I was fucking fine.

After today’s rejection I decided to at-least give this attractive girl my name. Better late than never right? Direct contact is not an option unless I want to look super creepy, luckily she lives with a guy I work with and I got talking to him on the train ride home. I asked him if she was single, she was! I then told him about the whole “I’m a spastic” event that lead to her not knowing my name, and how super lame I felt for it even happening.  He said he’d talk to her if a convenient moment arose. I’m guessing it did… because I just got this message from him.

“err, yeh. She remembers, and she’s not a fan of the stammer”

Cocknuckles.

If I weren’t just so damn good at not giving a shit I might try to appeal that, and let it be known that it was totally a one off “I swear, I usually finish my words much sooner!”. Fuck it all though, and you know why? Because today was a good day.

I came home from work, as usual… and finally worked out how the fuck my front door works.

[pause for silence]

Hear me out now, when I moved into this place about 6 or so months ago [another pause]… listen! The estate agent told me the front door was a bit “fidgety”. Upon trying to unlock it myself, I agreed. I’d usually just wriggle the handle about like Captain Arthritis until it would let me turn the key, sometimes it worked instantly, sometimes it would take an age. Both my flatmate and myself have had to call one another to come and open it from the inside because we’d given up wrestling with part of a house.

Turns out you have to flip the handle up, then the key will turn.

[major silence]

Look’it! We turn the handle up to lock this damn door (without a key, it does it automatically), so how was I supposed to know that the same function also gave the exact opposite result? The flatmate didn’t know either!

Stop looking at me like that, you can’t prove anything!

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