(no subject)

Weekend households only heighten the anticipation for the coming week. Dull, plebian conversations dominate the downstairs, forcing me into a strategic retreat to the third floor in order to protect my intelligence and sarcasm, as well as whatever patience I’ve got left.

As an example of this, a conversation between my father and my sister :

‘Who destroys the ring?’
‘Can’t tell you, finish reading the book’
‘give me a hint!’
‘He’s got two names. And think of ‘sss’ sounds’
‘Aragon?’
‘A less central character … one you would think would protect the ring’
‘The king?’

And then, me:
‘Are you trying to be this thick, or is it just an accident?’

Honestly, you’d think that, if she’s old enough to read the Lord of the Rings, she could show a bit of intelligence, once in a while. But, obviously, no. *snort* The shame, the utter shame of such an association. *cringe*