October 14, 2009



I saw this movie with Janet, a 53-year-old woman my grandmother set me up with. They know each other from a bridge group that gets together at the local church.

I don’t know much about bridge, but I do know this: never let your grandmother set you up on a date, especially with a 53-year-old woman with four kids, a bad cough and itchy skin.

The date was a nightmare. Janet’s skin kept falling into my popcorn, she coughed in my ear and her kids kept tapping me on the shoulder asking me what everything meant.

To make it worse, Janet claimed she had lived in India (where this movie supposedly takes place) for three years of her life. This was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

I find it highly implausible that any sane person would ever want to live in India. They don’t drive cars there, only elephants. They don’t have paved streets, only sand.

And most importantly their food gives you gas. One time I ate at an Indian restaurant and I had gas for three days straight. I had to go to the doctor who gave me a pill that tightened me up. I liked that.

Now I wish there was a pill to get Janet to stop calling me. I would like that even more.

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