I must suck at conversation

I always had considered myself to be a reliable conversationalist, able to be engaging, sometimes witty, sometimes funny, able to leap tall metaphors with a single bound. I'm no William F. Buckley, I'll admit, however, I do occassionally have a way with words. And this is not just in my own element, either. I can be okay with a crowd, in front of people, strangers even, and still do my thing. Like it says above, irreverence everywhere.

Imagine my chagrin when going to Zantigo to get some dinner for the evening, even announcing that I'll treat, the wifely unit brings reading material with her to the restaurant. Like I'm only useful for cash flow, transportation, incidentals, etc. Imagine my astonishment that I, the suave, debonaire, charming host has been upstaged by printed material. And not just any printed material. Not sophisticated tombs like War and Peace or Gulag Archipelago or a Calvin and Hobbes Collection. Those would be understandable, I guess. But, no. I was replaced by the Shark Vacuum Model NV22L manual.

Who sucks more, me or this vacuum? Don't answer that.