Brigid looked up at him, smirking. "What happened, Mr. Gay Abandon?"
"I met ... Treville."
"The, as you so astutely say, horror. Since then my life has been a never-ending series of what I call 'Treville moments', in which this semi-human lifeform dogs my heels like an annoying little brother or that little dog in the cartoon who keeps going 'Whattya want to do today, huh Spike? You wanna chase a cat, huh Spike?' But unlike Spike, I lack the intestinal fortitude to smack him around until he goes away."
"Good thing you've got me, then," said Brigid.
"Yes, exactly," said Greg. "In fact, that's precisely the point I was leading up to. Treville may not be the most pointless person in existence, but I know it had to be stiff competition. And why this waste of otherwise-perfectly-good human body parts should latch on to me as his hope for self-validation is beyond my ability to comprehend. I'm no slouch in the pointlessness department myself!"
"The first step to a cure is admitting you have a problem," said Brigid.
"Your candor and understanding are a comfort during these dark times," Greg replied. "In any case, the reason I brought this up is because I wanted to express both my appreciation for the way you've been managing to help keep him off my back, as well as my admiration for your willingness to stand up and kick the little schnook. I find myself continually ashamed that when he arrives I just grumble to myself and put up with him and am frankly in awe of the way you don't. So ... thank you."
Brigid blinked for a moment. Finally, she said, "Uh ... you're welcome?"
"Righto," said Greg. "That was all." And he went back to the laptop.
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