He thought she was a jewel so he bought her a rich setting, but when it came to housework and cooking and begetting or doing much of anything except asking for dough, she didn’t have much value. It turned out she was for show.
It was a sort of lunacy that prompted our grand comedy. One sticky bun, two mugs of tea predated our dependency. As you passed, you looked so yearningly at that last bun, and jealously surveyed my plate most zealously, wishing it had gone to thee.
Later, when you got up to pee, I took note of your truancy and put the bun where it should be— there on your plate. When finally, you returned, you viewed with glee where that bun had come to be, viewing it most quizzically and pondering the mystery of this delicious legacy. You glanced around to try to see its origins, and finally, you saw my empty plate, and me.
I remember with such piquancy how swiftly you ensorcelled me— first with your smile, and eventually by your approach and finally by your sweet generosity as you brought the bun to share with me, sat at my table, crossed foot on knee, and conversed with so much vibrancy that “I” and “you” turned into “we.”
It was our first romantic tryst— A morning tea break with a twist.
Sometimes I am d-lighted and sometimes I’m d-pressed. D-cidedly eclectic in what feelings are expressed. Yet d-rision is a concept that goes right o’er my head, If I had wanted criticism, might as well have wed.
Since it is true, I must report– my phone cord’s always two feet short of reaching from the wall connection towards my office desk’s direction. And Apple power cords, for heaven’s sake. Could they make one that doesn’t break?
Why don’t Ziplocks really zip? Why can’t I ever find the lip to pull the damn thing easily closed? Nothing’s as simple as supposed. So to the fellows who design, please listen to these words of mine:
This customer is getting miffed. Please don’t hold her in short shrift. Assure me that the fault’s not mine by bettering your weak design. Just make your flipping phone cords longer! Ziplocks zippier, Mac cords stronger!
In the interim, I’ll use tape and rubber bands and glues. My power cord’s life they will assure and keep my plastic bags secure. I’ll shove my desk over on my own to try to reach the blooming phone.
But finally I’m sure I’ll snap and cease to buy your ill-formed crap. So get my drift and make some changes. A thing like this is what deranges and drives us to cell phones, PC’s, and covered bowls to store our cheese!!!!
I have the need to be alone, to hide away, sequester, but my roommate never leaves the room! She’s somewhat of a nester. She seems to be ensconced here with her creepy boyfriend Lester, and my irritation’s turned into a boil about to fester. I may not make it to the end of the next semester when I can find a roommate who is less of a rester. She can be a talker or messy or a jester. She can use my makeup, wear my clothes or gripe and pester. In fact, I will take anyone short of a child molester, so long as she’s a roamer—a gad-about, a quester!!!!
I hope I’ll be forgiven if I’m driven to impose and point out that the place that you have chosen for repose is on my bed, not yours, and on my freshly laundered clothes! You’ve drooled on my new-pressed jeans and snagged my finest hose and that’s my favorite blouse there beneath your dripping nose, and though you look most comfortable in that snuggling pose, I fear you and your boyfriend I simply must depose. Is it possible to move to your own bed, do you suppose?
As we bicker on the web, as we snipe and snooze, soothing our hurt feelings with doobies or with booze, our rulers are sequestered, each pondering on his throne, deciding what new property to seize and make their own.
A chunk from social security, another bit from schools. So long as we’re not educated, we’ll remain their fools. Cut taxes for their cronies and let them drill for oil in our nature preserves until we start to boil.
Record heat in one spot and fires in another. Record snow and hurricanes. We drown or freeze or smother. They are not going to notice these travesties and glitches, for they’re busy in their counting rooms, counting out their riches.
What percentage earned today? What yachts to buy tomorrow? The fortune that they earn today is mankind’s future sorrow.
If we stay divided, we play into their plans.
We keep each other busy as they work on their tans!