It's Raining Vent

I totally forgot to share what ignited my Ladyfingers tirade.  Several months ago, I gave him a copy of my New Yorker because he likes Kandinsky and it had an article on his new exhibit at MoMA.  He looked up from my generous gift with scorn (his only true expression), and proceeded to mock the pretentiousness of a teacher in Florida reading The New Yorker on a regular basis.  I told him that my mom grabbed old copies from the library, and I tried to catch up on them whenever I could, since subscribing to something that must be read every week was too overwhelming.  I was all, "At least it's not The Atlantic."  With another heaping of disdain, he pointedly informed me that The New Republic was the only suitable subscription for an intelligent adult (which I don't find to be all that exciting because TNR doesn't have David Sedaris or "Table for Two").

So this week he makes a great show of pulling out his umbrella infront of me.  I don't even think it was raining.  He loudly announces that it was his free gift for SUBSCRIBING TO THE NEW YORKER.  Of course, he doesn't really enjoy it, as it has too much fluff for him, and he will most likely cancel his subscription next week.