I brought you a decaf latte. Made it at home. Here. Let me put it on the ground for a sec. Cinnamon, non-fat dry milk, Taster's Choice, and your drop of o. j. Can you really taste that tiny amount of juice?
Anyway, I hope you'll let me say what I want to say. If you interrupt I'll probably forget the important stuff.
I know I didn't always dote on you the way you wanted. I'm getting better, though, don't you think? I guess I just realized how important you've been in the past.
You know, the first time I kissed you I really felt as if the world became three-dimensional for the first time. Before I felt as if I were just stumbling through some weird two-dimensional realm with feeble impostors of emotions. I mean there were no bells or whistles or anything when we kissed but the world just became more real, more authentic, more inevitable.
The first time you showed me your small bedroom and your favorite pink nightie I felt like Emperor of the Universe. I was sure holy secrets had been revealed to me that afternoon when we were the only ones in your cluttered house. Were you just stroking my ego when you said I had "good hands"? I don't think so because after that day your girlfriends always wore huge smiles when they talked to me. Did you know how much they flirted with me? Their radiant grins seemed to say they knew some terrific secrets. They did - our secrets! Maybe you told them too much. A couple of them really tried to steal me. Did you know that?
Anyway, when you finally told me all you really wanted was to have my babies, I didn't realize what a compliment that was. I didn't see how much you really loved me. If I had... I don't know. Maybe I wouldn't have left. I don't know what I was looking for. Do men ever really?
If I'd known how much you adored me I wouldn't have bought that gun you wanted to have in case your new boyfriend became rough. How was I to know there was no boyfriend? I didn't know you had no one after I left.
Do you like the roses? I tried to get a Roy G. Biv bouquet - every color of the rainbow. I thought you'd like that. Next time I'll bring some bleach or something to take care of that ugly mold on your headstone.
'Bye, Julie. See you next week.
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This is more of an idea than a story. I almost feel ashamed to post it because I spent so little time on it and I doubt if I'll ever touch it again. To make it "real" I'd probably have to turn it into a short and I should be doing other work.
I posted it because sometimes what I like the least, others like the most. It's all subjective, eh???
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*SQUAWK!!!*
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