The Word Burger is Confusing

"The end," I said. I cleared the game board off the coffee table and began to pack my bags.

"I hate when people say 'the end'. It's so final and overdramatic," said Cynthia. "You know 'thee' is another way of saying 'you' in Middle English, right?" she asked. I bristled at the smug look on her face. "Are you trying to end me? Seems kinda hateful..." she said.

"Ugh...get behind me Satan, you know I meant 'tha' end," I groaned.

She smirked. "'Get' also means 'acquire', grumpy pants," she stated. "Don't worry, I'm picking up all the loot you dropped, just like in the game."

I sighed. "Remember when we could say a phrase with a single meaning? I feel like English is a schizophrenia pill."

She smirked louder. "The King James Bible says 'Get thee behind me'" she proclaimed. "Ha...is it cool when the Bible does it? Anyway, the end of what?"

"The end of confusing, vague language!" I blurted.

"What's wrong with saying two things at once?" asked Cynthia. "English is beautifully efficient. Call it the end of waste," she said.

I frowned.

"I'd be very cautious about calling for the end of waste. I like laying in the park and looking at clouds. It's like reading God's mind. You'd probably call it a waste of time."

Cynthia giggled and flashed me a genuine smile.

"The end of cloudwatching! Find some meaning in the chemtrails, kook!" she cried out.

I looked away from her and searched the floor for the rest of my clothes. My favorite t-shirt, a dragon with billowing clouds of smoke coming out of its nostrils, was crumpled up under the edge of Cynthia's couch.

I picked it up and tossed it in my backpack.

"Efficient?" I mused. "Even the word burger is confusing. Brrr...grrr? Burgers shouldn't be cold and they don't make me mad."

Cynthia shrugged.

"They make vegans mad," she replied.

"What doesn't?" I quipped.

As I walked across the room to fetch another piece of strewn clothing, I stubbed my toe on a haughty floorboard.

I cursed and grabbed my toe.

"Oooh! The end of pain!" squeaked Cynthia.

"Nope," I said. "The goddess of pain has politely informed me that I still owe her for all that pain I deferred with ibuprofen and cannabis. I didn't even know that pain debt was a thing. Apparently that's why I learned those lessons late. Do you know what the interest rates are on pain these days?"

A blank stare from Cynthia. "You're weird, I hate talking to you, and my house is always messier when you're here," she said.

"Messier, or a place where life actually happens?" I retorted. "When I'm not here, I imagine you being in hibernation with your brain hooked up to a computer to work on tv shows."

"The end of boredom," said Cynthia dryly.

I smiled.

"I've been told that boredom is the only sin in a woman's world," I gibed.

Cynthia sneered.

"Nevermind. Boredom could never end as long as you're alive. You're like the demon of boredom."

"You didn't deny it," I said.

"No need," Cynthia answered. "Boys grow up throwing rubber spheres of air at orange rings for hours. It's clear who's afraid of boredom."

"Afraid? Nah, we can end it whenever we want. But it comes back. Every end contains the seed of a beginning," I said.

"Speaking of seed, I like you better as a lover than a philosopher. Can you please shut up?" said Cynthia.

"The percent probability of my shutting up is directly proportional to the percent probability of my getting a date with a stranger at the gym."

"You did always have a thing for glutes," Cynthia replied.

"Yeah, rap music ruined me. Incidentally, I love with my vocal cords."