The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding soc
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit
and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white
pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to
snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but
Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The
press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell
everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit
and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white
pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to
snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barack. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barack came back, but
Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barack.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The
press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell
everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network,
Slashdot Mirror
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
Here ya go.
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding soc
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and then
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barry came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barry.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network, and
"Relax Mark," she says. I slowly unzip my pants.
The living room in this house has an incredible view. It’s as if you can see every inch of the Bay Area from up here. Is the Bay Area seeing every inch of me though?
Mark begins to sob. "My mother was right." He hangs his head in anguish. "I should have married a nice Jewish woman."
"Oh please." Priscilla rolls her eyes. "Have you ever even met a Jewish American Princess? The first JAP you would have tied the knot with would have taken half of your shit and used that money to keep the ball rolling with the next ten men."
"But look at what you’re doing now! I guess I should have expected no better from a girl I met at an AEPi party!" Mark shoots back.
"We agreed this would be the best action to take for the health of our marriage. Why are you so bitter now?"
"I don’t know. It just feels weird."
"That’s normal," Priscilla says coolly. She looks straight at me: "Let’s get this over with."
"Listen, if you guys aren’t comfortable with this, I can leave," I say, trying to keep the situation calm. A dog enters the room. It’s big, with what looks like long white pool noodles for fur. If Bob Marley had an Albino dog, this would be it. He seems confused, but he can tell Mark is agitated. The canine looks at me and begins to snarl.
"Calm down, Beast!" Priscilla shouts.
The dog immediately cowers back in fear, whimpering quietly. How did I get myself into this? Priscilla looks back at me: "No, you’re finishing this."
I shift my gaze back from the dog to the window. "So, are you comfortable, Priscilla?" Great view.
"Doctor," she corrects me.
"Doctor Priscilla?"
"Doctor Chan."
"Have you done something like this with your patients?" Mark interrupts anxiously.
"No Mark, I just prefer to be called by my proper title with strangers. Stop being so petty. You know I love you. I’m doing this for you," she replies gently.
"Yeah. I’m sorry honey. You know I’m just getting worked up," Mark begins to twiddle his thumbs.
"Ugh. You’re worse than your mother. Do you want to be like them?"
I have to interject- "Like who?"
Priscilla is quick to answer: "The Obamas. The Musks. You know."
"No, I really don’t," I answer. Because I don’t. What are these bizarre people going on about?
"Like last New Year’s eve. Elon Musk filed for divorce while everyone was out having the time of their lives," Priscilla explains.
"And the Obamas?" I inquire further.
Mark answers, "I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barack. The controversy is that last Christmas vacation when the Obamas flew out to Hawaii, Barack came back, but Michelle stayed an extra week. It was quite a spectacle."
"’I’m pretty much on a first-name basis with Barack.’" Priscilla repeats mockingly. "As if we don’t all know Obama’s first name."
"I don’t get it. What do those guys have to do with you?" I need to ask again, for I am not one of quick wit.
"Well, frankly, the marriage is stagnating. We married too young and never really got to explore ourselves. But we can’t get a divorce, it would be too high profile. The press wouldn’t stop harassing us about it. It would be like if Hillary and Bill got a divorce halfway through her campaign run," Priscilla explains.
"I understand." I don’t actually understand. But who knows how long this explanation of their scheming and paltry concerns will go on for? I don’t really care.
"The last thing Mark would want," Priscilla starts again, "is for me to run away from San Francisco, and travel the world alone! I’d even have a blog, where I would tell everyone that they need to quit their jobs, marry a nice Jewish boy from Harvard with a budding social network,