Int. Living Room – Night
<<Wine, chocolate, Disney movies (probably not Hercules)>>
Penny: He hurt his thumb.
Polly: Non sequitur, much?
Penny: <<stares at phone with mixture of disgust and longing>>
Polly: <<sighs>> So Poopface texted? How long has it been?
Penny: Ohhh, I don’t know. Months. But, Pol, he hurt his thumb.
Polly: And we care because…?
Penny: His thumb! He played guitar with that thumb!
Polly: Zeus, Penny! I still don’t get why he thinks you should care.
Penny: Just pass the wine.. Do you want to hear about this or not?
Polly: Variations on a theme, my dear. Variations on a theme.
To the court of public opinion we submit the following evidence:
- Abrupt contact after months of blissful silence
- Cursory polite chitchat designed to lure recipient into conversation
- BOOM! Life bomb requiring sympathy, congratulations or a frying pan to the head
We can only conclude he is in possession of an internal radar that senses when you’re just about to forget him completely. The resulting alarm triggers neural synapses to release the passive aggressive hormone previously purported to exist only in females, causing him to reach out in desperation with the first thing that comes to mind – his poor, hurt thumb. Kiss and make it better? Nah, let’s go back to that frying pan.