sometimes when i share my adventures i might add a teensy bit of um, let’s call it ‘jazz hands’ to the story. some people might call this LYING. and i call those people BAD STORY TELLERS. in fact, if you are going to tell a story i’d actually prefer you pepper it with a few hyperbolic statements here and there just to keep the momentum going. after all i have the attention span of a gnat. gnat starts with a silent ‘g’ so it’s on my list of ‘words i loathe for no good reason, other than they start with a silent “g”‘.
see how i did that? i don’t ACTUALLY have the attention span of a gnat (although who really knows what kind of attention span a gnat has?) but i said it nonetheless and hope that you will forgive me for my LIES.
but the thing is, even i have a limit when it comes to everyday dramatic speech. and i think i’ve found my threshold in 16-year-old-girl-talk. i’m actually not exaggerating when i say that at least twice an hour my sister and her friends will EXCLAIM (in between gasps for oxygen):
the first time i heard this i thought my sister actually couldn’t breathe and was having an asthma attack. but i quickly realized that she’d just seen some shoes she liked and this was just her way of saying “wow. i really like those shoes”.
and then i was schooled in the application of this brilliant one liner.
in love? surprised? scared? amazed? horrified? bored? devastated? ecstatic?
just blurt out “OMIGOD. i can’t breathe”. it fits. every time.
in conclusion, i love my sister, but teenagers scare me.