i was made for loving you baby / you were made for loving meeee
The first time I got married, my ever-the-optimist friend Jac singsonged, “Ohhhh, it’s as if all your dreams are coming true to-daaay.”
It was then that my other friend, Alex the Pragmatist, dryly pronounced, “Yeah, if all your dreams include having an evil she-douche as a mother-in-law.” She thumbed in the general direction of the sphere of ungodliness where said evil she-douche was hovering (likely busying herself, of course, with the process of mentally running numbers on the degree to which her every sense had been offended in the preceding five to eight hours).
That Alex, she sure knew how to script an ending.
Hey, said the curiously unsubtle voyueurnal hostess, speaking of scripting endings, I’ve put my story wrap up over on Polite Fictions.
If you know me even a little bit at all, you will recall with an effortless amount of lucidity that I either burn bridges or leave ends all loose and twisting in the wind. I am fair turrrble at endings, lending no subtlety to them whatsoever. But wait, that’s in (what I perceive as) ‘real’ life. You go be the judge as to whether or not this is a pattern that bears out in my fictional endeavors, as well.
5 worked it out »