Stop Inviting My Nemesis to Your Parties

I hate you.

Some pig.

Whomever invites the pig, you're on notice. That swine thinks she's all that. "Look at moi!" "Where's the food?" "Ooh, champagne!"

She's always showing up at the same parties I do. By the time I get to the bar, it's empty. I dash to the buffet, she's on the floor, rolling around and snorting in the remaining scraps. This one time I tried to pull a carrot stick out from under her and she let out a huge, "Hi-Yah!" and chopped me in the throat.

From her stupid big sparkly rings to her super flexible little on-again-off-again boyfriend, she just can't stop talking about how awesome her life is and how great it is to be so famous. "Ooh, Lars is the BEST personal trainer," or "Call Bernie to book me, I'm just too busy to talk right now." Seriously, I'm getting sick of hearing about all of it. Get over yourself.

Well, get this. A couple of weeks ago, we were at the same type of function again and I unfortunately got there less fashionably late than she did. However, that did allow me to eat a box of delectable cookies before she could touch them. She swept into the room, all fluttering eyelashes and cooing in that ridiculous high-pitched squealy voice she does when she puts on a show. I know what's she's really like under all of that: a gravelly-voiced rage monster just waiting to karate kick you into next week. Anyway, there was still a large pot of warm chili on the buffet stand and I directed her attention to it. "You have to try it. It's delicious."

She didn't reply because she was too busy putting her head in the pot and gobbling down ever last meaty morsel. Oh, the tears I cried from laughter. I hope you enjoyed that pork chili as much as I enjoyed watching you eat it.

OMG. I think we're best friends now!