Justification Sounds A Lot Like Juxtaposition

I think I may be polite to a fault.

You see, I'm the kind of girl who, while getting stitches through mangled pieces of skin, won't ask for more local anisthetic because she is definitely, definitely feeling the needle pulling the thread through now. No, that would be impolite. The doctors know what they are doing, they know how to administer anisthetic, and if you're feeling it, well, the fault is yours. So suck it up and deal. No crying. Is what my internal dialogue sounded like during those long minutes on the paper-covered dexamining table. Or what they would have sounded like if "Oh wow this hurts" weren't outplaying everything else.

And tonight? Tonight, I let a guy tell me about Renny Dess-cart-ess [how he pronounced René Descartes]. RENNY DESS-CART-ESS. And I KNOW his professor pronounced it correctly in class. And I didn't correct him at all. I just nodded my recognition, kept my facial contortions to myself, and moved on.

Of course, I'm blogging about it now, so I don't know how polite I am after all. Meh, I'm too tired to get into an argument about semantics. Especially not one with myself.