All My Pals Hate My Girlfriend

My girlfriend is pretty as a plum, and she’s really fun to be around. I adore her with my heart and soul; but, for some reason, all my pals hate her. When I ask my pals what they have against Jenna (that’s my girlfriend’s name), they say “She inherited a fortune from her deceased relatives, so she doesn’t understand the value of money. This annoys us. Therefore our opinion is that she’s bad for you.” 

Now I’m confused and trying to figure out how to respond. I want to honor my pals’ advice, but I love Jenna so much that I would forgive any imperfection in her, whether of attribute or action. So I end up just kicking the can down the road and neglecting to decide whether or not to break things off.

Now my pals all have a birthday party — it is a communal celebration, because they all share the same date of birth — but I notice that I did not receive an invitation. So I call up my pals on the party line:

“Pals,” I say, “how come you won’t let me join the festivities, on this very special day?”

“It is because your girlfriend drives a motorcycle that she bought at Harley-Davidson Dot Com, whereas we only approve of sport bikes made by Yamaha, Suzuki, or Kawasaki,” answer my pals. “However, we do agree that Jenna is a ten out of ten, on the beauty scale,” they add, giggling. 

Now, when my pals say this, about my girlfriend being a “ten,” I am not sure whether they intend that number to be the best or the worst; for there are many ranking systems that hold “number one” to be the top position. 

So I decide to show up at my pals’ communal birthday party anyway, despite not being officially invited; and I bring my girlfriend Jenna right along with me. We approach the scene and notice that my pals are having a picnic — this is exactly what Jenna anticipated, which is why she stuffed her handbag with liverwurst. Now a couple of my pals approach me, while Jenna is mingling with the group, and they speak in low voices and address me like so:

“Your girl is obviously drunk; she is acting like a dipstick. Plus her voice is annoying, and she pronounces her words all wrong — what’s up with that fake accent? — she makes ‘bling-bling’ sound like ‘boing-boing’. Look, now she just pretended that her swim-top accidentally fell off, and nobody’s even bothering to ogle her. Plus she’s wearing too much Musky Tusk perfume — we can smell it from all the way over here.”

This carping speech of my pals really hurts my feelings. But my love for my girlfriend outweighs my shame, and I end up succumbing to the urge to make our bond eternal: So Jenna and I leave the party and go get married at the Mall of America’s drive-thru chapel.