That’s What She Said

My, it is warm.

That’s what she said.

Well, I said.

Well, I wrote.

Are you going to eat that?

That’s what she said.

Well, I said.

Well, I wrote.

My, but you are being literal.

That’s what she said.

Well, I said.

Well, I wrote.

Totally violating the figurative, innuendo nature of the “that’s what she said” format.

What can I say?

I don’t like subtext.

I prefer text.

That’s what…you know, you are making it awfully difficult to pretend you mean sexy things underneath the cover of innocent statements.

I know.

I defy your subtext.

I am like an exorcist of passive-aggression.

If there were such a thing.

There is really no known cure for passive-aggression.

Well, maybe death.

But if there is an afterlife, or a zombie apocalypse, or a haunting in the offing, I assume you would have a passive-aggressive soul/zombie/ghost.

Which would be so very, very much worse than the regular, direct kinds.

The passive-aggressive soul, one assumes, would go to hell, for surely there is no passive aggression in heaven.

Plus it would really lighten the workload for the demons.

The rest of the damned would suffer for the company of the passive-aggressives.

I suppose a passive-aggressive ghost would try to scare you without it being obvious or admitting that it was trying to scare you, and would make you out to be the bad guy for trying to get it exorcised when it wasn’t even trying to scare you.

A passive-aggressive zombie would have it a little harder, as it would still need to eat you…I suppose it could rely on the classic passive-aggressive strategy of relentless denial. Denying that it is eating you around a mouthful of your flesh.

I could flesh (haha, zombie pun) these ideas out more, but for now, moving on
…because passive-aggression feels ishy, even fictional-horror-character passive-aggression…though a passive-aggressive chainsaw murderer could be sort of amusing…aside from the death by chainsaw part.

I am so stuffy.

That’s what she said.

Yes, that is what I said. Wrote. Just now.

But…y’know…

Just can’t let go of the bit, huh?

That’s what she said.

Fine, fine.

Wow, your penis is enormous and rigid.

That’s wh…aw, come on, it doesn’t work if you come right out and say something sexual.

There is just no pleasing you.

That’s what she said. Ha! Only that is kind of a downer.

Your schtick is far too narrow.

That’s what she said. Ahhh! Thanks.

No problem. Satisfied?

That’s wh…you know what? I am. Thanks.

Perhaps we can move on.

I suppose.

But I find it so difficult to talk about anything of substance. I rely on silly standard call-and-response joke formats to enable me to communicate with others.

It is a lonely way to live.

Well, perhaps if you stopped acting like everything everyone says is something some subtext-obsessed woman is saying, and really listened, and gave thoughtful responses, maybe you would be able to build some real intimacy in your life, and you would start feeling connected instead of lonely.

I…er….well, I…uhhhh….

I understand it will take time and practice. Go ahead.

THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!!!

Feel better?

Yes, I do.

Okay, I am going to talk to someone else for a while, you really need to go and work these things out with professional assistance.

(footsteps, door creak, door slam, more muffled retreating footsteps, silence)

Oh, great, now I am on my own.

That’s what I said.

Well, anyway, onward and upward.

That’s what I said.

I am getting bored with this.

That’s what I said.

It’s just the same thing, over and over.

That’s what I said.

My ear is itchy.

That’s what I said.

My nose is stuffy.

That’s what I said.

Oh, bother!

That’s what Pooh said.

Up and atom!

That’s what Radioactive Man said.

Up and at them!

That’s what Simpsons Schwarzenegger said.

We have nothing to fear but fear itself.

That’s what FDR said.

The sun will come out tomorrow.

That’s what Annie said.

Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?

That’s what Juliet said.

Po Po Zow.

That’s what Mr. Britney Spears said.

I like tacos.

That’s what a lot of people said, especially on Tuesday.

Where’s the can?

That’s what the guy who had to poop said.

Where are my keys?

That’s what the guy who had to poop said.

What the hell do keys and poop have to do with each other?

That’s what you said.

…I thought you left.

I did. I just came back, because otherwise where were you going to go with that?

Oh. Thanks. Maybe time to wrap this up.

That’s what she said?

Yes. Yes, it is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

© Lisa Hurley
lisamariehurley.com