I was talking to my neighbor Kevin. He's one of those people who embraces life but hasn't a clue. He's like a big dog who jumps up on you enthusiastically, but can also pee on the carpet if given the opportunity (and a few beers). We like to discuss trivial things like sports and entertainment. We stay away from politics and religion, because he's a Rush Limbaugh fan and I lean more toward not caring one way or the other, which annoys him to no end.I was trying to explain to him how happy I was with my new diet pill called alli.
"Man, I love alli," I said.
"You mean, Muhammad Ali? The greatest boxer ever? The man who flew like a butterfly and stung like a bee? That Ali?"
"Uh, no, Kevin...I..."
"Oh, then you must mean his daughter, Laila Ali. Man, that girl is a great fighter, just like her old man, she..."
"Uh, no, not Laila either, Kevin. I'm talking about..."
He interrupted me for the third time. How dare he interrupt me when I'm interrupting him.
"Oh, then you must be referring to Ali McGraw. Wasn't it sad when her character died in Love Story? I saw that movie when I was a kid and I cried..."
"Not her, either," I said, tiring of this guessing game from hell.
"I'm talking about alli, with 2 l's. It's a great diet pill that I've been taking and I love it. No jitters. No side effects. And the weight is coming off like gangbusters."
"Oh," Kevin said sullenly.
We both went back into our respective houses, no wiser and a little more confused.
