Now, I'm a pretty personable... erm... person.
I mean, I'm somewhat cranky, sure. But I'm usually cheerfully cranky, in a delightful (<--my opinion, Josh's may differ) and friendly way.
I'm not all that hard to get along with.
I swear.
But there's this one patron. We'll call him Chet*.
CHET IS MY NEMESIS.
Less because of any easily-describable interaction, and more because just the sight of him makes me want to start punching things.
Mainly him.
Last night, I dreamt about him. HE FOLLOWED ME HOME AND INTO MY DREAMS, THAT BASTARD.
So, I'm at my in-laws' house, standing in the kitchen, peacefully drinking a glass of milk. I set it down for a moment, taking a brief break from my enjoyable milk-drinking.
When I turn back to pick up my glass and finish my frothy cold beverage, I see that Chet—who is now in my in-laws' house for some inexplicable reason—HAS PICKED UP MY GLASS AND FINISHED MY MILK.
I ASK YOU: WHO DOES THAT?
There was more—with Chet joining my mother-in-law at the dining room table, but not sitting in one of the free chairs, oh no, but JAMMING HIMSELF INTO MY MOTHER-IN-LAW'S SEAT WITH HER, and another bit, in which he attempted to fake his way through a conversation about basketball with my father-in-law, but my father-in-law TOTALLY CALLED HIM ON IT, so the dream actually ended on a satisfying note—but I won't bore you with the gory details. Or, well, I won't bore you with them any more than I already have.
Suffice to say: CHET IS THE WORST.
More bulletins as events warrant.
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*Obviously not his** real name.
**Or her!
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