For so much of my childhood, my dad made us fake our way through dinners with his friends, pretending that we were one big happy family. And I wasn’t interested in faking it then and I wasn’t interested in faking it now. I couldn’t get through a dinner without wanting to shout, “I’M SAD. ARE YOU GUYS SAD? CAN WE AT LEAST ACKNOWLEDGE WE’RE ALL KIND OF SAD, AND THEN FINE, SURE, WE CAN TALK ABOUT THE FUCKING BRIE!!!!!!!!!!”
I have never read anything which sums up how I feel about small talk more accurately than this
