Somewhat out of desperation a few weeks ago, I brought up Manti T’eo with my trainer. I could very happily work out for an hour in silence, but he’s always filling lingering silences with chatter; most frequently, it’s “Yes sir!,” which is unfortunate because my mother and I have this thing where one of us will say, “No ma’am!” and then the other will repeat it. So every time he says “Yes sir!” I have to stop myself from saying “Yes ma’am!”
Anyway. So I brought up Manti after he asked if I was planning to watch the Super Bowl and who I was rooting for, to which I somehow managed to not answer “Beyoncé.” And though he claimed to know the story of Manti and his lady love, his shock when I started talking about the details proved him a liar.
“So he was calling her his girlfriend without even meeting her?” he asked.
“Yes! Isn’t that crazy?”
“She shoulda at least given him a blow job before he called her his girlfriend, right?” And if he didn’t actually elbow me in the ribs, he certainly gave the verbal equivalent.