Apparently, waiting with patience is a virtuous art. If that’s the case, I’m basically a Picasso of impatience. Because If patience is a virtue, I must be a huge sinner.
I was the rebel fetus, such an impatient one that I breached my own exit plan from the womb at a mere seven and a half months. Being born in the seventh month is mystical and spiritual they say. Well, I guess my impatience had a cosmic due date since I was born in July, the seventh month of the year.
In any case, in hindsight, I think it was a pretty good indication that I’m not the kind of person who waits for much. My impatience is like a persistent telemarketer – it keeps calling, and I can't just hit 'ignore. I tend to be horribly impatient, which I realize now is often to a fault. If I see something I want, “I have to have it” right then (my obsessive-compulsive attraction to unhealthy gummy bears comes to mind…) I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m the Usain Bolt, the Speedy Gonzalez of impatience.
The Irony is, that during a banter-filled exchange, I hatched a mischievous plan to test J's patience. I casually promised her a cup of coffee and might or might not test her patience and see how long she could wait until I decided to do it. Well, turns out, her patience had an expiration date as well.
In a move that could rival the best surgeon's precision, she executed a cell-phone-tossing maneuver, with sniper-like accuracy. She flung her phone into the air. Her phone soared through the air with the accuracy of a GPS-guided missile, and before I could say '007,' BAM! Right in the family jewels. It was like getting hit by one of Dave Chapelle’s jokes, unexpected, painful, and definitely not PG-rated.
Like in the Netflix special where the Comedy GOAT brags about turning absolutely anything into a joke: “So I kicked him in the pussy”, she did the same, she hit me in the nuts instead. It was a comedy moment straight out of Dave Chapelle's playbook. Only in our version, she was cackling like any Chapelle fan laughing with any of his Tranny jokes and I was the Tranny, the unwitting victim, doubled over in pain, that even any of the \"letters\" from the LGTB community would find excessive. There I was, on the floor, clutching my wounded BIG ego, the left one (see what I did there?) while she continued to revel in her impromptu comedy special.
Laughter truly is the best medicine – unless, of course, you’re the punchline nursing a sore \"punch area. It was a comedy of errors where the punchline hit below the belt, literally. She was cracking up I was NutCracked.
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