Tapping Fingers

My fingers tapped impatiently on the pallid coloured table. I was waiting for Blogger to get ready-- he couldn't decide between a blue tie, or a 'navy' blue tie, he just kept insisting there was a significant difference. I gave up persuading him an hour ago, and so I sit, tapping away, waiting impatiently. It wasn't until another hour, when I had started assembling the fruits from the fruit bowl into order of size, that he trotted down the stairs, wearing a red tie. "Red?", frustration clear in my voice. Blogger simply said "Actually..it's crimson". He exclaimed no further. I looked at him disapprovingly, my lips twisted up slightly, fighting back a grin, until he then clarified that he "read the label", and my eyes, filled with doubt, rolled. My eyes then swayed back to the table, where my precious keys lay, just waiting to be used.The car ride there was incredibly infuriating, Blogger found it appropriate to sing along to one of Weird Al Flankovich's, or Yankovich's, remakes of a song that was distasteful to begin with. Pressing my fingers onto my temples, I stepped out of the car, into the racket of the outside.The first few hours of strolling the shopping center were a blur. I distinctly remembered, unfortunately, Blogger's getting frustrated with the cinema's wide screen. Then the flashback of him hammering the screen with his fists, while blaring, "LET THE BIG PEOPLE OUT!!" popped up into my memory. I shuddered at the thought. After that incident, I was advised to send Blogger home. My thoughts were stolen away from me then, and I found myself sitting alone, tapping my fingers, thoughtlessly, on a russet coloured bench.