wherein I coin a new word for a minority

I'm sometimes accused of being a shameless flatterer.  I don't think this is truly what I am, but it happens often enough that I have to address it.  Earlier today, I was talking to a gal that I like and I told her that she was in possession of a "damn pretty face" and that she ought to be in the modeling business as a model modeling her face so that people will buy things or whyever it is that people are paid to be models.  She told me that I was a shameless flatterer.  This morning, I was making some eggybritos with just a tetch of cheddar, and Sasha the cat came in to the kitchen and perched on a stool that somebody put in the kitchen for some reason, so I told her she was just about the cutest thing around and that it must be exhausting going around being adorable every second of the fucking day and she ought to feel free to take a day off and get some rest or whatever, except that she actually sleeps a great deal, often curled up in a little cardboard box and she's just about the cutest thing around when she does it.  And she seemed to accept this compliment with ease and appreciation.  I didn't feel that she was calling me a shameless flatterer at all.  But since cats are not particularly good at understanding what you say and I love the mellifluous tones of my own magnificent voice, I delivered unto her velvety gray ears the following soliloquy.¹

You may think that I'm a shameless flatterer, but consider: if I were a shameless flatterer, and that I must go about my days doggedly offering compliments to whomever is within my company, then it must mean something that I've chosen your company of all the company I might otherwise keep.  Clearly you're just as superlative as I say.

I think she caught my drift, because she squinched her eyes at me appreciatively.  She's a very sweet cat.

My household will change soon as my great housemate moves out and takes her two wonderful cats with her.  I don't have a lot of goals for my next housemate, but I hope they don't smoke cigarettes because I'm totally racist against cigarette smokers.  In fact, I call them "ciggers"² because I hang my yoga mat on my bedroom door to dry, and then when I go to yoga, the fuggin thing stinks to hell of cigarettes because my upstairs housemate is a dirty cigger.  He doesn't even smoke inside the house, but he just goes around exuding disgusting tobacco stink off his faceskin like goddamn Humphrey Bogart.  It totally harshes my yoga mellow.  I stick my face right on that mat, you know?  so I like it to smell less like ciggies and more like a fried plantain or a mountain breeze or some shit.³   So anyhow, my next housemate ain't gonna be no smoker.  I have to start screening people more carefully.

I'm sad that the cats will move out, because they're sweet as candy, but It might not be the worst situation imaginable, since they also (hopefully it's them) shit and vomit on the carpet more than I like to have the carpet shitted and vomited upon. It's arguable that I'm not in a position to criticize, since I keep a dog who shits on the carpet more often than she shits on any other surface at all.⁴  I would argue with this, except that A) sadly, they are right, and B) it's a logical fallacy and so they're too dumb to argue with. 



Endnotes
1. I think it counts as a soliloquy, since the cat is barely listening.
2. I don't, actually, but I am thinking of starting.    
3. unfortunately, it sometimes smells like some shit, but I do prefer that to tobacco smoke.
4. I think she may have forgotten that the purpose of periodically going outside is to move her bowels.  She's very old, and often seems to stand confusedly in the yard looking a bit like Ronald Reagan did throughout most of his second term.