Bloody Blah

And the ice-cream scoop decided to jump out of the cone and land on my T-shirt. The ankle had to twist tortuously, and certain old words decided to haunt me after a year to cause further embarrassment. Little tendrils crept up from behind me and lulled me to sleep. I was pulled around and my crazy friends, particularly one, derived an enormous amount of satisfaction from teasing me and tugging at my limbs and insulting me by calling me a “child woman” and doing and saying a lot of other things that I cannot quote for safety reasons. My mental safety, that is.

My measurably marked mortification made me more mad. There was too much sun for me to see clearly without crinkling my eyes painfully. And of course, I walked and walked and walked a lot and fell asleep later while listening to music. Listening to loud music in a dark room is decidedly pleasant, especially if some sickeningly sanctimonious singing specimen of a woman chooses to teach the entire locality how to dance while “officially” instructing a handful of little girls who are far from hearing disabled.

Noodles are nice. So is soup — something that I would like to eat now. There are many other edible items that I would like, dark chocolate, for instance. I can’t remember when I last enjoyed good dark chocolate, such is the tragedy of my stomach.

The bottom-line is that restrictive boredom is not good, not good at all. And when honest souls claim that ice-cream jumped out of its rightful place inside a half-eaten cone to attack their clothes, they should be believed.