So yesterday in the elevator was this gorgeous 6’5″ tall Indian subcontinent delivery boy.
This morning I went into the small sandwich/deli across the street and lo and behold, there he was. The owner, who I always assumed was Indian was having a hard time communicating with him and asked the other girl at the register “How do you say ‘new’ in Pashti? So at least I know the delivery boy is from Pakistan.
I hate long jokes. You know the kind that start off something like, “So this Rabbi, Priest and wildebeest are driving along the Pacific Coast Highway…â€
I have a close friend whom I grew up with in Toronto whose father would always feel the need to tell me one of those jokes. It would take last approximately 5-10 minutes and never amuse me. The whole time I was trying to prevent rolling my eyes and/or hoping a refrigerator would fall out of the sky and onto me and put me out of my misery. And then I would have to do a phony laugh at the end and say something like, “Oh, Mr. ____ , how do you come up with this stuffâ€.
Anyone else dread being cornered by someone who tries to tell you one of these seemingly never-ending jokes?
Christie fires off another one at the teacher’s union.
Will there be another bike thread today??? I enjoy riling those people up.
Yes, of course. What do you think I am???
Same guy?
So yesterday in the elevator was this gorgeous 6’5″ tall Indian subcontinent delivery boy.
This morning I went into the small sandwich/deli across the street and lo and behold, there he was. The owner, who I always assumed was Indian was having a hard time communicating with him and asked the other girl at the register “How do you say ‘new’ in Pashti? So at least I know the delivery boy is from Pakistan.
Twice, actually.
DIBS, you’re pretty grumpy for a guy who had not-too-surprising-buttsecks last night.
I hate Canadians who plather on and on.
I hate long jokes. You know the kind that start off something like, “So this Rabbi, Priest and wildebeest are driving along the Pacific Coast Highway…â€
I have a close friend whom I grew up with in Toronto whose father would always feel the need to tell me one of those jokes. It would take last approximately 5-10 minutes and never amuse me. The whole time I was trying to prevent rolling my eyes and/or hoping a refrigerator would fall out of the sky and onto me and put me out of my misery. And then I would have to do a phony laugh at the end and say something like, “Oh, Mr. ____ , how do you come up with this stuffâ€.
Anyone else dread being cornered by someone who tries to tell you one of these seemingly never-ending jokes?