Love Means Never Having To Pretend You Care

In a restaurant where music is playing over the sound system.

Me: Jeeze, I’ve heard this song three times in the last two days.

The Queen: What is it?

Me: “Last Train To Clarksville,” by The Monkees

Q: Are you sure it’s not the Beatles? It sounds like the Beatles.

Me: No, I’m certain it’s The Monkees. I listened to a lot of Monkees when I was in high school.

Q: You’re kidding me. The Monkees? I thought you liked Talking Heads and The Smiths and stuff.

Me: I did, but … well, there was this girl that I was friends with in high school, and she really liked the Monkees, so I listened to a lot of Monkees too. That’s how I was, then — I just listened to whatever my close friends liked to so we’d have something in common. I listened to Talking Heads because my buddy M. liked them, and I listened to The Smiths because my friend J. liked them, and listened to The Monkees because this girl was way into The Monkees, and so on. I mean, when it comes to music I’ve always been a poseur — but I know I’m a poseur and I don’t pretend that I’m not, so I guess that makes it okay.

Q: I have to pee.

Me: You have to …? I spill my guts, I reveal this fascinating insight into my personality and psychological makeup, and all you can say is “I have to pee”?!

Q: So it seems, poseur.

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