Grief is an exquisite taunting monster.
With tears merging into a continual rivulet of mourning,
One day I will outrun you.
Actually, it was her doppelgänger. This petite lady looked just like her, flyaway hair and all. Met her in the parking lot as she was leaving the store that I was entering. I waited for her beautiful smiling self to exit and our convo went like this:
Moi: “Good afternoon, sweetheart.”
Today is as bleak as an empty cup of coffee. They tell me that the numbers don’t lie. They say that to appease the stunned silent…and yes, I know what I did there. Not today grammarians. Not today.
The optimist in me left somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, right around the time the electoral college shat red numbers all over common sense, hope, sanity and balance.
There is no solace in knowing that the very same who voted for Donald Trump will find out soon enough that they are not the right kind of American.
Mikey was my childhood epicurean hero. He knew what foods he hated (according to his brothers he hated everything) and what he liked – Life breakfast cereal made by Quaker Oats. While on the topic of oats – see what I did there? – I don’t like’em unless they been formed into chewy cookies with a sweet vanilla cream center and packaged by Debbie’s own little hands.
I wouldn’t call myself a finicky eater. It’s just the mushy gruel thing. Try as I might – and believe you me my mother tried it all from oatmeal to Farina to grits – I am no fan of any of it!
Wasn’t kidding about the Little Debbie thing. Just like my attraction for lesbian butch women, it’s all in the packaging. She knows how I take my oatmeal and just like Xena, I like what she do.
I’d better end this now ’cause it’s taking everything I have not to fix that grammatical error. So if you like your oatmeal, more power to your healthy self. I’ll be over here with my Shaker pal, Cap’n Crunch.