My neighbor and his wife moved in, and he immediately became the life of every gathering. Over the next year or so — and after about a dozen meetups at our local pub and drinks at each other’s homes — I started to notice something: he always dominated the conversation.
Every time, he told the same set of stories on repeat. In each one, he was the funny guy, the tough guy, the genius, the admired professional, the attractive one, or the misunderstood victim. The stories were clearly rehearsed same characters, same impressions, same punchlines, same timing, same jokes. And even five years later, not a single detail had changed.
I ran into my old teacher on the bus. Right away, she asked how I was doing and whether I was married. She grabbed my hand and inspected my rings.
I told her that everything was going well with my husband and that my parents were doing fine too. Out of nowhere, she exclaimed, “No, this can’t be!” Then quickly added, “My daughter is still single!”