The Boring Company

The Boring Company

Bored, the two looked at each other and let out a familiar sigh of frustration, but the two soon realized their error. Presumably, they had assumed that the event had been created for the amusement of adults, and it had been. But as they should know by now, no such thing exists here, and since the event info definitively did not specify that children were not allowed, obviously, parents brought children along, which —apparently alone in this feeling— always sucks the sexy out of any outing. Nevertheless, they should have known better; they’ve been out on the town, in this town, enough times to know that there are no things for adults to do except ‘party’ or ‘shop.’ Partiers, even though technically considered adults, vastly still live at home with their parents or are foreigners who are here to do only that. Shoppers bury themselves into great debt depths. Frustrated, they should have known better than to have thought that an adults-only-type event existed in this child-, mommy-, adults-who-still-live-with-their-parents-oriented country.

“What time is it?” she inquires. “Nine-thirty,” he obliges. “Motherfucker.” “Yea.” “Well, what do you wanna do now?” “Ugh.” “You could bore me,” she winks with a little body-to-body teaser. “Oh,” he perks. “I love good boring company,” she flirts. “I live to bore,” he retorts. She rolls her eyes. “To the subway then,” he announces as he grabs her hand and runs her to the nearest subway station home.