Gangsta

Here is what is cracking me up today.

When I walked in to work this morning, I ran into my friend Jen.
Her: Hey, how are you? How is your friend?
Me: Which friend?
Her: The one who was BUSTED.
Me: What?
Her: Your friend. Remember, when we had pub night last week, you said you didn’t come because your friend was BUSTED.
Me: I did? I…(wracking brain, trying to think of a friend who got busted. And what exactly are we talking about? Busted as in, busted up? Hurt? Or busted as in nabbed by the po-po? Do I have a friend in either category at the moment? Ummmm)
Her: Yes, you did.
Me: I can’t remember that friend! I am a horrible person!

For the next 5 hours at work, this was going through my head:
I am a horrible person I have a poor busted up friend who is either in-the-hospital-busted or in-jail-busted and I don’t even remember them horrible person I am a horrible horrible horrible person.

Then, I realized. That was the night our FURNACE busted. The time I saw Jen after I didn’t show up for pub night was at a loud party. Before leaving the party, I said to her that I missed the pub night because our furnace busted. What she heard was me, spitting the badass line: “We didn’t make it because my friend got BUSTED. It was a long night and really expensive” and then turning around and traipsing off, like I am Snoop Dogg or something. COLDBLOODED.

There is a small part of me that wishes we had never figured this out.

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