“No, I really liked the laptop, Darcy. It’s great. What I mean to say is couldn’t you have tried a little harder with the wrapping?”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. She tilted her head slightly in half-confusion, half-anger and continued to stare at Bart.
“I mean, come on, babe. Brown packing paper? Do you even care if I’m excited about a present or not?” Bart asked, completely serious.
Darcy clenched her jaw. “You cannot possibly be for real right now.”
Bart groaned, not even slightly ironically. “I’m not saying the gift was bad, Darcy. I believe I was quite clear on that. It was thoughtful and fantastic. I just want to know why you half-assed the wrapping so hard. It’s not expensive to buy some nice wrapping paper.”
Darcy balled her fist; her knuckles cracked audibly.
“All I’m saying,” Bart continued, oblivious, “is that if you’re going to get a nice gift like that, you should probably go all the way and make the presentation nice, too. Otherwise, the joy of the gift is kind of diluted. You know what I mean?”
Bart did not see the punch coming because he had no idea what he was saying was pissing Darcy right the fuck off. He did not know this because he was an idiot. Why he was an idiot is still the subject of much heated scientific debate, with most participants divided into two camps: one believing it was because his parents were bad teachers and passed on bad ideas to Bart, the other believing it was because his parents were idiots themselves, and passed on their idiot genes to Bart.
Either way, Bart was hard-headed. Luckily enough for Darcy’s fist, Bart was also glass jawed.
As he lay on the floor clutching his broken jaw, Bart marveled at how few people were able to take constructive criticism.