I placed my fork down on my plate and watched my ex-bestfriend ramble on about her absurd stories of the people that had run in, and usually out, of her life. She had a weird way of doing things to fit in with a crowd, and I silently asked myself what exactly I was thinking when I agreed to going out to breakfast with her. Another pity date, I presumed?

Taking a sip of my orange juice, I looked at her plate of chicken strips. Chicken strips for breakfast. Of course. Honestly, I wasn’t very surprised. Picking my fork back up, I placed a peice of french toast in my mouth. Maybe going out to breakfast with somebody that you completely abhor was worth the stuffed french toast and orange juice.

Snapping back into reality, I heard her ask a question of what I had been doing during my summer.

“Oh, yeah, right,” I replied, “Uh.. Well, not much really.”

That would last her the next ten minutes. She continued with her stories of summer flings and bizarre experiences. Breakfast was not worth the trouble.