Dear Sir, my ever-negative companion, cracks me up. He is so chipper and smiley when he is not rolling his eyes. He is one of those guys that smiles after everything he says, forcing you to believe that he does not have too much negativity (or as he would say, reality) in his mind.
For example, we were in Wal-mart, the only place to buy thermal underwear for me since I dread winter now because I get so cold. New breeds of humans only crop up at Wal-mart, the regular earth's sort of Ura-Kai, blasting from the floors of the place donning dirty stretch pants, floppy shirts, and snotty kids. Let's not forget the fact that they have a habit of yelling through the whole store and making scenes.
"I wish we were at Target," I said as we stood last in a massive line.
"Keep it down, Rach," Dear Sir said, "man, we are such snobs." He took a good rub of his forehead out of sheer weariness.
"Look at this!" I said under my breath. "All I can think about is throwing up."
"This is bad, I know. This is like purgatory." He shook his head.
"I'm blogging that," I laughed.