8. Enjoying emotional constipation. I have British friends. No honestly, I do. They'd probably die of embarrassment if I named them, though. I might speak of them as my friends if I were certain I was with people who would likely never meet them. And I would never be so callous as to tell them how I felt about them or how much they mean to me. Not unless we were all really drunk, because we'd all understand that as I was in my cups, it was never to be spoken of again.

So if you consider me a friend, I beg you not tell me about it lest I be forced to make some flippant remark to deflect my discomfort and spend the rest of the day blushing.
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