Complaining
A senior associate- which means, he's junior to me- has a house and a wife in Westchester. Or Short Hills. When he complained about the deer, I thought he was mentioning another fancy place downtown which I would have to pretend to know. But the deer he whined about was in his front yard, eating herbs his wife had planted.
This is the sort of competetive conversation which makes me avoid society.
We have two tall white doormen where I live. Maybe I should complain loudly about them sometime.
- posted by Male Whore @ 12:18 AM