Belated Sunday Scribblings Post-Prompt "Tongue in cheek"
Tongue in cheek
It's just been one of those days. I have reached a point where I need just one or two more things to go wrong because I need more stuff that I have to get done today. My breaking point approaches in an ever narrowing sequence of events until I get to the point where I'm ready to go curl up against one arm of the couch with a two-liter bottle of Coke and watch both volumes of “Kill Bill.” Afterwards, I will fire up my computer and absolutely beat the living hell out of some fictional characters who probably don't deserve it, but they had the misfortune to be created in my Universe, by me, and it's easier to break them than anything else when I'm having a bad day. It's a cheap form of therapy. It doesn't cost me a thing and if I do something unforgivable to one of the people living on my pages, all I have to do is delete a few lines of text to set it right.
I've just settled into my spot on the couch when I hear the unwelcome opening strains of a Barry Manilow song. Since I don't and will never own any of Barry Manilow's music, there's only one other option for who might be playing it. He also knows how I feel about Manilow. I get up to go ask him to turn it off, because I love him and I don't want him to be the reason that I snap.
The noise is coming from the kitchen. As soon as I cross the threshold to set foot on the tile floor, he turns off the music. On the kitchen counter, there's that 2 liter bottle of Coke I'd been thinking of getting, my favorite pizza from my favorite pizza joint, and a mixing bowl that's been filled with fun-sized candy bars in my favorite varieties.
“I figured that'd bring you running,” he says with a grin.
“You almost died because of that man. You realize that, don't you?”
“Ah,” he answers with a shrug, “I figured it was a fine line, sure, but I have all the right stuff in place here. Right?”
“You did pretty well. Except that baiting thing. Seriously, just ask me to come out into the kitchen next time, okay?”
“So, I should avoid putting a John Wayne movie on and turning it up really loudly is what you're saying?”
“If you want to survive you should completely abandon that plan.”
“Right. Got it,” he smirks as he hands me a plate.
It's just been one of those days. I have reached a point where I need just one or two more things to go wrong because I need more stuff that I have to get done today. My breaking point approaches in an ever narrowing sequence of events until I get to the point where I'm ready to go curl up against one arm of the couch with a two-liter bottle of Coke and watch both volumes of “Kill Bill.” Afterwards, I will fire up my computer and absolutely beat the living hell out of some fictional characters who probably don't deserve it, but they had the misfortune to be created in my Universe, by me, and it's easier to break them than anything else when I'm having a bad day. It's a cheap form of therapy. It doesn't cost me a thing and if I do something unforgivable to one of the people living on my pages, all I have to do is delete a few lines of text to set it right.
I've just settled into my spot on the couch when I hear the unwelcome opening strains of a Barry Manilow song. Since I don't and will never own any of Barry Manilow's music, there's only one other option for who might be playing it. He also knows how I feel about Manilow. I get up to go ask him to turn it off, because I love him and I don't want him to be the reason that I snap.
The noise is coming from the kitchen. As soon as I cross the threshold to set foot on the tile floor, he turns off the music. On the kitchen counter, there's that 2 liter bottle of Coke I'd been thinking of getting, my favorite pizza from my favorite pizza joint, and a mixing bowl that's been filled with fun-sized candy bars in my favorite varieties.
“I figured that'd bring you running,” he says with a grin.
“You almost died because of that man. You realize that, don't you?”
“Ah,” he answers with a shrug, “I figured it was a fine line, sure, but I have all the right stuff in place here. Right?”
“You did pretty well. Except that baiting thing. Seriously, just ask me to come out into the kitchen next time, okay?”
“So, I should avoid putting a John Wayne movie on and turning it up really loudly is what you're saying?”
“If you want to survive you should completely abandon that plan.”
“Right. Got it,” he smirks as he hands me a plate.