Why I Can’t Argue
Someone usually a friend says a challenging comment practically begging you to fire something back. Which you do, it may not the be the smartest, most sarcastic, or even wittiest thing you can say but at least you aren’t mute. Alas, he again fires a volley of either inflammatory remarks toward your mother or just coolly replies with a painstakingly mind-bending fact that he pulls from the disconcerted annals of Wikipedia. Your mind suddenly becomes like the monkey crashing cymbals together and you draw a total blank. A crisis rears its ugly head. You have to say something to avoid looking stupid but nothing rational pops up. Finally you spout out something that is completely nonsensical but drawn out enough to keep your opponent chuckling till you come up with an acceptable response. At this point the battle is lost, the house wins, and you are stupefied into frustration. The real pain however doesn’t even settle in yet. No it appears right when your on your 20 minute drive home pondering the meaning of existence, or at the dinner table wolfing down that sumptuous prime rib, or when you’re in the shower washing places that haven’t seen the sun light in too many days. This is the moment when you finally thought of the perfect thing to have said in that argument. It hits you like a linebacker sacking a quarterback. Your helpless at this point, left with nothing but your perfect little response that has been outdated into obsolescence. The worst part is knowing that you really aren’t as stupid as you sound it’s just that your brain has a time delay. This is my affliction. This is my curse. This is why I can’t argue.