Limes and Milk

"I hate multiple-birth babies."
We were watching the war on tv when a Cingular ad with three identical boy-men parading in casual wear (one in white, one in black, one in charcoal) interrupted the air raid sirens in Baghdad.
"What?!"
"They freak me out."
"Ok." The weekend was giving Meagan ample opportunity to exercise her special talent in expressing strong, instantly developed opinions. Ministerial in delivery, these statements were gospel to her, for at least an hour.
"More than midgets?" That morning she had exclaimed how upsetting she found little people.
"Tough to call... But I never want to meet identical dwarfs."
It was the first time I had seen her in a couple years. We had a falling out our senior year in college while sharing a loft. The changes we underwent our junior years abroad combined with the added stress of living in a space without doors or walls left me with the understanding that Meagan was a self-involved bitch, and left her with the impression that I was a pathetic, boring whiner.