weirdly passive-agressive people.

Again, a metaphor.

Like, if I’m cooking dinner? And you notice me chopping up jalapeno peppers to put in the mashed potatoes? There is a right way and a wrong way to figure out wtf I’m doing adding jalapenos to mashed potatoes.

~~~ WRONG WAY ~~~

you: just coming into the kitchen to get a drink of gin, see how things are going.
me: cool
you: oh, I notice you’re putting jalapenos in the mashed potatoes.
me: yup
you: hm
me: (chops jalapenos)
you: cause, you know, they’re jalapenos
me: yup
you: and mashed potatoes
me: the recipe called for them
you: OOO-kay…
me: (chops jalapenos)
you: that’s kind of weird, right? jalapenos in the potatoes?
me: dude, I don’t know, check the recipe if you don’t believe me.
you: no, no, that’s cool.
me: (chops jalapenos)
you: cause, you know, I had that thing awhile back? that jalapeno thing? where my face all swelled up?
me: you had poison ivy
you: yeah, but it COULD have been from the peppers
me: but it WASN’T.
you: yeah, but, peppers and potatoes is just kind of weird.
me: (chops jalapenos)
you: are you SURE the recipe calls for them?
me: (kills you)

~~~ RIGHT ~~~

you: Jalapenos? I hate jalapenos. That sounds gross.
me: ok! (throws peppers in the trash) let’s get drunk!!

See how easy that was, the second time around? I didn’t have to kill you, you didn’t plant the seeds of deep hatred and resentment with your needling questions, and life is better all around! Lesson, people: don’t be passive. be direct. and you won’t get stabbed in the heart with a jalapeno-covered chef’s knife.