I can assure you I’m not lazy, but certainly there were times in my youth when my mom might have thought I was. If you meet her, you’ll find her very pleasant to be around as long as you don’t mention anything about Tom taking out the garbage.
I just don’t like being pushed into doing things.
When I am watching my favorite sitcom, the laugh track seems to be vying for attention. It attempts to put me in the socially awkward position of watching TV with a straight face while the person next to me is laughing so hard that their sides are aching. The principle at work is that when you’re with a group of friends and someone tells a joke you may very well laugh even if you don’t get it, find it funny, or if you’re like me, have never understood the point of jokes to begin with.
Certainly no relationship exists between us and a laugh track, does it?
But then again is there a connection between the success or failure, happiness or sadness of a person and the car they drive, the beverage they drink, or the shampoo they use? If I wash my hair with Ultrex, will I play like Ronaldo without having to train? Being a supporter of FC Barcelona, I’d prefer to have dandruff. Rather watch as I open a pack of Lay’s Potato Chips and metamorphose faster than Gregor Samsa into Lionel Messi before your very eyes.