(no subject)
It was late in the day when Sacharissa left the office. There was more to work on some days than others, but if there had been a dearth of major events of late, there had also been several smaller incidents of interest. She liked to keep herself occupied either way. As was her custom, she headed next into the rec room to check the bookshelf for something new to read, tapping her foot idly to the song which came on as she entered. There was always something playing, and though she prefered Music With Rocks In, there was something to be said for some of the Music Which Popped.
Generally, though, she didn't pay much attention to the music which played. It was so often inane or simply mediocre, and she was much more interested in the books on the shelf. She was leafing through the opening pages of a novel entitled Love in a Cold Climate* when she noticed the music at all, let alone paid any attention to its lyrics.
I kissed a girl and I liked it,
the taste of her cherry chapstick
I kissed a girl just to try it
Hope my boyfriend don't mind it
Sacharissa wasn't entirely certain just what 'cherry chapstick' was a euphemism for, but the beat was catchy, and she found herself listening more closely despite herself. The young woman singing it, or the song's narrator, at any rate, seemed to have issues beyond sexual experimentation. Clearly she didn't care what 'good girls' did, if she was gallivanting about when she had a boyfriend already. If he were the sort of man who didn't mind, the singer wouldn't have been asking. And in any case, who said it wasn't what good girls did? Sacharissa had never quite thought of herself as anything else.**
Glancing over at the jukebox as it began to play the song yet again, she shook her head. It would be days before she'd get something decent in her head again, she just knew it.
* There was something appealing about a title so utterly inappropriate to the current weather conditions.
** In the grand tally of kisses given and received by Miss Cripslock, the majority, she would have had to admit, had come from girls, and she had most certainly liked them, aside from kisses best left forgotten.*** What that did or didn't have to do with being 'good,' she wasn't sure, though the combination of infidelity and inebriation certainly didn't sound Proper.
*** And thus, naturally, very difficult to forget, at least at the start. Long practice had made blithe denial much simpler since that one strange weekend she'd spent acting like the girl in the song.