I isn't smrt

When I returned to North Vancouver on Friday I had been gone since the previous Saturday. I didn't bother going to the internet centre at Lasqueti to check my mail. Michael told me that the owners of our running clinic sent out a mass email congratulating everyone on their runs and asking us to email them and let them know if we had had our personal bests, or if we had qualified for Boston and to send in any stories or pictures. Michael had responded that he had qualified for Boston. I was a bit (okay, a lot) cheesed that he hadn't mentioned that I had qualified too since we went over together and I wasn't going to get a chance to reply until I got back home. He replied that he hadn't made mention of my time because he prefers that people don't know we're dating because he's enormously embarrassed of me and his ideal relationship would be one in which I resided in the basement of the house and he could let me out once a month to howl at the moon and eat bugs. Then he handed me a bag with a question mark on it to wear over my head because we were going to go for a walk in public, and whipped out some hand sanitizer after I tried to hold his hand.
Anyways. This morning I decided to respond to the owner and give her a brief synopsis of my marathon. I wrote "Thank you for your encouragement. I was pleased with my time of 3:39:21 given that I have been struggling with a horrific case of genital herpes for the past month. I had an almost debilitating bout of diarrhea at kilometre 23 which was very unfortunate because there were no portapotties around, so I would like to thank the person who allowed me to so horrifically soil their garbage can... and those that stopped to watch and take pictures." Not all of this is true.
This evening, after returning from an all day adventure with Michael which involved me inadvertently driving into an RV park and getting lost at the mall and seeing a dog vigorously hump someone's leg, I checked my email and one of the people in the summer marathon clinic had emailed me to congratulate me on qualifying for Boston. I thought it was a bit odd because she's probably emailed me two or three times in the eight months I've known her. Upon closer investigation it became readily apparent that the email that I had intended to send to the owner of the clinic was cc'd to all the participants in the clinic as well. So at 11:19am people were sitting down, sipping their coffee, checking their email and saying, "Who the fuck is T- and why does she think I give a shit that she qualified for Boston? And her time wasn't that great either. What a massive ego. Someone should put a bag over her head and lock her in a basement".