This calls for an apology.
You know Lillian Hellman? Playwright, paramour of Dashiell Hammett, a friend and, ultimately, a Judas of Dorothy Parker? Old Lil had a reputation as a difficult woman. That was the title of her biography, actually.
She wasn’t difficult, she was scheming and conniving. I’m difficult. Big difference.
All I do is whine and complain and, once in a while, snivel. Hang on, there’s more. I’m compulsive, stubborn, opinionated, and completely deaf to reason — a huge pain in the ass. You probably wonder why anyone bothers with me — given my sour disposition and general curmudgeonliness.
Well, they wouldn’t if they had a choice. But those people I call my friends didn’t volunteer, they were drafted. Waylaid, really. I’m a flipping barnacle; I’ve attached myself to some stunningly patient, easygoing, generous, very forgiving, and very funny people. Saints, really. Or, in keeping with the…
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