Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Three weeks ago, as I was struggling home as I do almost every weekend, with just the right amount of groceries as to make it all really asinine, I came across this nice short plump woman who was flowing out of her pinkish hat in order to dutifully vend assorted cacti by the side of a street that is about five minutes from my house. As I had almost given up hope on a trip to the museum that is a whole thirty Saturday-minutes away, and thus on my ever hanging a portrait of the lady in my cluttered sleep space, I boldly peeped at all her greenery on display with sly fertile thoughts of enlivening my red-white-and-sorry-but-no-blue room despite my bloody un-green thumb. And it was not all it vain - though it eventually led to my having to carefully lower my cursed groceries onto the street, and to my having to balance a slippery bottomed plastic pot on top of a bottle of wine after having picked up the aforementioned accursedness with surprising dexterity...and it was not all in vain, for a rugged, multi-greened, small mahogany spiked blighter winked back at me with street-puppy love, and our instant marriage, a euro and a half later, unceremoniously was made. I immediately (well, 10 minutes of goofy weight laden waddling later) brought him into my bedroom, showered him with light, and glazed him with all the water that filled my bottle cap. But all was not well. The jealous seraphs, I suddenly noticed, were smiling sinisterly from their blighted purgatory. I shrugged it off in my new groom bloom, and gleefully went for a second round of pot fondling instead. But oh, what a fool I was! For you see, as I should have then, foresaw they that, today, in my castle that sort of overlooks the sea… that today, my little prick would shrivel and die away, leaving me pining for unseen beeches with a poor punctured heart.
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