Don’t offer me half a stick of gum.
Just like women most often prefer it when a guy just plans a date and takes control and doesn’t lament over and over again that they want to decide what to do tonight together…you sit there with your paltry little piece of Trident asking me if I want half since there’s only one piece left.
What did I just say? Don’t offer me half a stick of gum.
That’s like dying penniless and then when the reading of your will happens I find out that you’ve left me your old 8 track tape collection. It’s like me asking for some chips and you handing me the Doritos bag with the crumbs at the bottom. It’s like going to shake my hand and patting me on the back instead.
Offering someone a half a piece of gum is like telling them you couldn’t care less about their breath, their self-respect or their value in your life.
What would I prefer? What is my solution to the problem of half-piece-a-gum-givers? Shouldn’t I have one if I’m going to lament and complain and ramble and rant on about gum-breakers? Well, I do.
Don’t offer me half a piece of gum.
That’s like breaking up with someone and then at the last minute offering to go with them to your parents’ anniversary party. It’s like hitting me with your car as I’m walking through the crosswalk and then offering to take me to the hospital. It’s like pulling over to the side of a high mountain road where I’m hanging on for dear life and then you reach out and grab my hand and say “Hold on! Hold on, I’ll pull you up!” and then you try and try but in the end you can’t do it and I go careening to the ground thousands of feet below.
It’s a half-assed job and a half-a-piece of gum.
Sure, some people their being generous. Sure, some people think it’s an act of friendship or loyalty. Some people think it’s a great way to foster relationships and share the Splendafied wealth.
I say it’s just some guy, feeling guilty, that he’s got the last piece of gum.
Because who in their right mind wants to chew on a pea-sized half-a-piece of gum? Who wants to basically give themselves a jaw problem because of their repetitive “find the gum in my mouth” game since it’s too damn small to locate? Who wants to give themselves a headache chewing something the size of an eraser?
So get a backbone and find your courage and just tell me that you’ve got one last piece of gum, that you don’t wanna share it cause who really wants to chew a half piece of gum, and leave well enough alone.
Sure. I may hate you forever.
And talk behind your back about how you’re “that person” who doesn’t share the last piece of gum and craft voodoo dolls out of your hair to which I’d stick old gross gum onto in an attempt to sour your love for the chewy stuff and generally say bad things about you in our gum-chewing cirlces… But someday, when all is said and done…
I’ll be glad that you stood up, took charge, and denied me the one thing that, honestly, I probably really don’t want.
(Editor’s Note: Be sure not to miss out on WFME’s trilogy of gum posts which are sure to amaze and annoy.)