Sunday, February 18, 2007

Last Saturday Night

Ann Parker and I had plans to go get a few drinks this past Saturday night. At the last minute she changed her mind about going. I had already shaved my legs and put on makeup so I was standing in front of her imploring her to get off her ass. Her quiet refusals became very annoying. She remained resolute in her intention to stay home even as I continued badgering her. I would not give her any peace. She kept trying to read her newspaper. Finally Ann favored me with an appraising glance and a raised eyebrow. She said:

"I will not be seen in public with you when you are wearing those clothes. That dress looks like one of the tube tops my mother used to wear in the 1970s with her Richard Simmons-style nylon shorts. I've seen photos. It looks like you took one of her old tube tops and stretched it out so it would just barely cover your ass. Not only do you look like a cheap hooker - you look like a cheap hooker who shops at Goodwill. Have fun hitting the bars by yourself. I don't want to be seen with you, but I'm sure that you will end up with plenty of company."

With that Ann picked up her newspaper again and resumed her reading of it. I stood there deflated. Did I really look that bad? Was my attire that embarrassing? Was Ann really ashamed to be seen with me? I pondered the unpleasant notions and after a moment I noticed Ann slipping a peek at the clock on the wall. Why did she care what time it was? She was planning to stay home. Or was she? All of a sudden the proverbial dime dropped in my head. I remembered the phone messages from someone named Fred who had called for Ann earlier in the day - the message that I had neglected to give to Ann at all.

"Oh, are you waiting for Fred to call?" I asked Ann in a malicious tone of voice. "Is that why you are looking at the clock? Is that why you don't want to come out with me?"

Ann's head popped up from behind her newspaper.

"How do you know Fred?" she demanded.

I smiled a cruel smile.

"Did Fred call?" she asked with rising concern.

I smiled again and raised my eyebrows at her.

"Fred called, didn't he?" she said more as a statement than a question. "What did he say? Did he leave a message?"

"You know," I said evenly. "Someone calling here and leaving a message with me is tantamount to that person not having called at all."

I didn't give her time to reflect on my statement before reaching over and pulling her newspaper out of her hands. Within mere seconds our nasty argument had spilled onto the floor as each of us attempted to dominate and punish the other using any means possible..


Join www.TanyaDanielle.com now to see who triumphed in this violent brouhaha!



- XXOO Tanya







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