I sort of feel like adding to the conversation with my own personal experiences. Things like, "Did you know that, if humans were like amoebas, I'd probably already have divided into two people by now? Maybe three if they were particularly svelte?"
Or, "Yes. My darn gravity well just keeps getting deeper and deeper. I think if I have any more of this chocolate cake, I'll probably become a black hole."
Or, "Hey, do you see this softball rotating around my middle? It's a small moon I acquired just last week. It's the latest in plus-size accessories."
But instead I sit there, looking like a human beanbag chair, nodding sympathetically as people talk about elliptical machines and only being able to muscle down two bites of the incredibly sweet dessert that I've already had two servings of. As if I know what they're talking about. As if we're even from the same universe.
My back aches all the time, my ankle twists with great regularity, and I will probably die of a heart attack at age 39. Now. Can we please talk about something else? Books, I hear, are very nice conversational topics this time of year.
