The Subtle Art of Not Getting It

Brenda gestured dramatically at a canvas that appeared to be the unfortunate aftermath of a coffee spill on a particularly beige carpet. "Oh, *this* is just *stunning*," she declared, her voice dripping with what she imagined was biting sarcasm. "Such *depth*. It really speaks to me."

Sarah, beside her, offered a demure nod. "Indeed. One truly marvels at the sheer... lack of effort. It takes a certain kind of genius to achieve such unadulterated mediocrity, wouldn't you agree? I mean, who *hasn't* dreamed of splattering last night's espresso on a canvas and calling it 'Existential Angst in Brown Tones'?"

Brenda, completely missing the second layer of irony, beamed. "Exactly! It's just so... brown."

Sarah sighed internally, her lips twitching. "Brown. Yes, the color of profound revelation and perhaps, last week's forgotten lunch."

They moved to another exhibit, a lone, suspiciously ordinary brick resting majestically on a velvet pedestal. Brenda's eyes widened. "Wow. A brick. Groundbreaking." She patted herself on the back for that one.

"Oh, absolutely," Sarah chimed in, perfectly straight-faced. "I'm almost certain I saw it levitate for a moment. Perhaps it's a commentary on the static nature of modern relationships, or maybe it just didn't want to be a wall anymore. The artist clearly spent *minutes* contemplating its optimal placement, probably under a very specific lunar alignment."

Brenda nodded sagely. "Right! I bet they're making a fortune selling these 'installations'."

"Undoubtedly," Sarah agreed, adjusting an imaginary monocle. "I hear the waiting list for one of their 'found objects' is longer than the queue for free healthcare. Truly, a testament to the discerning eye of the contemporary art patron, who I'm sure appreciates paying several thousand dollars for something they could trip over on a construction site."

Brenda, invigorated by what she perceived as shared cynicism, clapped Sarah on the shoulder. "I'm telling you, Sarah, this modern art... it's just so *easy*."

"Oh, unbelievably so," Sarah responded, her voice laced with such sweet, cutting sarcasm it could curdle milk. "I'm sure I could just walk into my kitchen, grab a rusty colander, and instantly become a celebrated avant-garde sculptor. No years of training, no understanding of form or concept required. Just a colander and a dream. Who knew artistic brilliance was so readily available in the domestic sphere?"

Brenda's eyes lit up. "You totally get it!"

Sarah just offered a tight smile, muttering under her breath as they walked away, "Oh, Brenda, if only *you* did."