...Then you hop around the room in your underwear.

I'm sick of people confiding in me at the drop of a hat. If I hear another sob story again I will not hesitate from resorting to violence.
I don't know what it is about me that gives people bouts of verbal diarrhea. From weird and kinky sex fantasies and fetishes to your garden variety "nobody loves me" tales, I've heard them all. And most of the time people choose to reveal these delightful pieces of information (like how they secretly hate their kids or how their 80-year-old grandmother is getting it on with the gardener) to me within minutes of our first meeting.

One time this woman introduced herself to me and then 10 minutes later asked me if I counselled people who were going through a bad patch in their marriages. But not before she told me how sex was difficult in the beginning because she married her best friend. I quickly told her that looks were deceptive and that she should never judge a book by its cover. I also cleverly added that my previous attempts to counsel people going through marital discomforts only ended up in divorce courts. She just gave me a blank look and proceeded to tell me that sex is a little easier now but that's only because she closes her eyes and imagines Shahrukh Khan instead of her husband!
And then people complain that I'm so angry at the world all the time. Well, do you blame me?

Then there was this guy who told me he couldn't stand his wife and he was only staying with her because she was so sick all the time and he was just waiting for her to kick the bucket. It was better than divorcing her and having to pay alimony, he said.

Women are always complaining about their husbands. And women are always complaining about their husbands to other women. And somehow I seem to make up for 90% of these other women that they complain to.
Now I'm all for a little bit of crying on shoulders and getting things off chests but I absolutely draw the line at 2 am calls that whine about how "He just doesn't love me anymore. I know because he forgot to buy me a gift for the 3rd anniversary of the day he first saw me in my pink panties."
I hate it when a woman calls me to cry about how her husband is a chauvinistic bastard and shows no respect for her feelings and then hangs up in a hurry because he will be out of the bathroom any minute now and she needs to lay out his socks and underwear.

And then there are those women who just won't stop cribbing. They crib about their husbands, their mothers-in-law, their maids, the woman who styles their hair, the guy who irons their clothes, even some random woman with an unflattering figure and ill-fitting clothes that they saw in a shopping mall. And god help me but these motherfuckin' bitches always have radars that zero in on me. They crib and crib till my ears are about to fall off and then ask me, "What's wrong sweetie? You seem so preoccupied...you're just not yourself today."
I wish to god then that I could just go hang out with a guy and throw back a chilled beer. That's when I remember that I know a guy who launches into full-blown accounts of how his boss doesn't appreciate him and how some guy owes him so much money and how his nose got blocked while bathing and how his car won't start because the petrol that he last filled was adulterated and how the entire country is corrupt and how he wants to get a job abroad but if only his boss appreciated him enough to give him a good letter of recommendation...

Sometimes I really understand the criminal mind and its motives.