So, what bastard cuts a girl loose on Valentine’s Day?
The whole episode gave my friend Meg a slamming headache, and she said the bathroom tiles at the Exxon station cascaded like the horizontal hold for the world had malfunctioned. Like a waterfall of pain wrapped a rope around her head, and was keeping her tethered to it. She said the four hundred dollars she spent at Victoria’s Secret, just to keep him entertained, made her queasy.
Well, cotton is the fabric of my life. The girls in that place make me sick, anyway.
She could barely leave, and spent four automatic flushes trying to convince her shirt to stop lifting out of her pants.
Migraine makes you clumsy. What can I say?
Meg’s sister took over for her, since she couldn’t even drive, and they went to Mom’s house for dinner. There she found out, again, that Mom’s hoarding will never get better on its own. Clouds of clothes in plastic bags, like thunderheads at every turn, along with her sister’s loudmouthed children.
Shit. How does she stand it?
Dinner came from the BiLo Deli. The food went on the plate, the fork lifted the food, and one mouthful of that flim-flam gravy sent Meg running.
I don’t know why she ate that crap. I’ve warned her before.
Anyway, Meg said the rim was cool, and she felt oddly elated after.
The creep popped the string, but the affect went afloat, so to speak, where it belongs. ‘Nuff said.