Off Sides

right decision in breaking things off. Angeline is just a little too prissy for my tastes. Hell, she wouldn't even give me a hug after my games until I took a shower. In hindsight, I'm surprised she didn't wipe me down with that alcohol gel of hers before we had sex. Or make me double wrap my dick with two condoms.
    I pull my lower lip between my teeth in consternation. Seeing Angeline tonight was surreal. I expected her to still be furious with me for breaking up with her. Instead, she walked right up to me and gave me a big hug, telling me that it was good to see me. I repaid the compliment, although I didn't really feel it. It was the polite thing to do.
    As the night wore on, Angeline went from friendly banter to overt flirting. I didn't fail to notice the numerous times she laid her hand on my arm when she was talking to me or the way she would stand on her tip toes to whisper something in my ear.
    Don't get me wrong. Tonight, Angeline is rocking a pair of skin tight jeans, a barely there halter top and some sky high heels. She is oozing sex and had she not been concentrating wasted energy on me, she would have made some other guy very happy to be having her attention.
    Toward the end of the night as the band was playing one of their last songs, she tried to rope me into dancing with her. I politely declined, telling her it was probably not a good idea. She seemed to take the rejection gracefully but then promptly invited herself along when we all decided to hit Sally's. I should have just gone home but I really was starving and figured I could brave another half hour of Angeline.
    So here we sit, and I'm trying to focus on slinging birds at pigs, keeping my attention half on the talk around the tables. It takes all of about five seconds for someone to mention Descartes and we are off and running.
    I find it hilarious that when college students get drunk or high, we immediately start discussing philosophy. I mean, who gives a rat's ass about philosophy, but throw a little alcohol into the mix and suddenly everyone wants to pontificate.
    We're all in a level 300 philosophy course called Seventeenth and Eighteenth Century Philosophers. Word around campus is that Dr. Anderson, who is about a hundred and twenty years old, basically sleeps through class and tells you exactly what will be on the final exam. The class is supposed to be a cake-walk. I sure hope so because I have damn good grades going into my senior year and I want to have an easy schedule so I can put more of my efforts into hockey.
    "Well, I think dualism is a load of crap," I hear Mike say with flourish. He had a slight slur to his words. "If the mind exists independently of the brain, then how are physical memories created? Tell me how that makes sense."
    "None of it makes sense," I mutter, my eyes still glued to my iPhone. No one even spares me a glance which is fine by me. My game is far more interesting that discussing Descartes.
    "That's narrow sited on your part," Angeline scoffs. "Regardless, I find it more fascinating this concept of 'I think, therefore, I am'. I mean, that's pretty deep on a level I never bothered to think about before."
    I am pretty sure Angeline has never thought about anything deeper than what designer jeans she will wear in the morning but I am impressed how she steers the subject away from the mind numbing philosophy of dualism.
    I can see the waitress approaching from the corner of my eye but I don't look up as I am perilously close to breaking my high score. She stands there for several seconds while the conversation rages on, patiently waiting for a break in the expenditure of brain cells. When no one pauses to even take a breath, she gives a little clearing sound with her throat.
    The table goes silent then I hear Angeline say in her most affronted voice, "Excuse me. But we are in the middle of an important discussion. Do you think it's appropriate to just interrupt us with the assumption we are ready for you?"
    Everyone starts laughing hysterically, myself excluded. But I do give an inner smirk to myself and just shake my head. Angeline can dress someone down and make them feel about three inches tall in just a matter of seconds. It's a true art form of the criminally wealthy and insanely narcissistic.
    Angeline isn't finished with her though. She turns to the rest of the table and says, "I guess we can't really fault her ignorance. I mean, she slings hash for a living. This conversation is probably a little over