If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s people who take forever to tell a story. You sit there and sit there and listen to them rambling on for what feels like hours and then, nine times out of 10, there’s no real pay-off. Like the woman at my gym who breathlessly greets us every morning with, “You’ll never believe what happened to me last night!” and then twenty minutes later, we find out she stubbed her toe on a garden rake. Whoohoo. Thanks for the pot boiler there, Agatha Christie. I mean, is it wrong that one morning I hope her story ends with, “…and then the coyote ate my other fingers and I passed out in my own filth in the Ross Dress for Less fitting room”? Is it?
No, what I prefer is a brief story. A quick story. An abbreviated story. A story so abbreviated, in fact, that it’s hardly there at all. But it still packs a wallop. What I prefer is the brilliance of a Long Story Short.
I went to get a pedicure this morning and, long story short, we have to be in Vietnam by Tuesday.
The oven smelled funny yesterday and, long story short, I no longer need to wax my eyebrows.
I put that package in my luggage and, long story short, Guantanamo Bay sure has a lot of mosquitoes this time of year.
So then he said “Paper or plastic?” and, long story short, the Jaws of Life are really good at cutting people out of shopping carts.
All I did was click on the link on the bottom of the page and, long story short, we’re now urban chicken farmers.
My brother was in New Orleans last week and, long story short, can you pick him up from dialysis tomorrow?
I saw the open drawer of money in the church office and, long story short, you’re going to make lots of friends at your new school in Mexico.
My husband got into a fight with his boss and, long story short, I need to borrow your pasties, clear heels and Def Leppard CD later tonight.
I had a shot of tequila at lunch and, long story short, Mr. Kenny Rogers is currently being served with a restraining order.
See how short and refreshing those are? I bet you didn’t even yawn once.
So do me a favor and leave a Long Story Short for me in the comments. Because I know you’re all a lot more entertaining than that woman at the gym. Oh, yes, you definitely are.
I told Wendi another 20 minute long story about a garden rake and, long story short, I won’t be needing a hairbrush anymore.
See? Tell me a long story and make it short.