Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Should ask?
Yup.
I absolutely need to discuss it with my two loves who are also working at the moment.
“I am working on helping you get in the wedding spirit and avoiding the depressing snooze of a sales day due to the winter storm that’s theoretically gonna hit tonight.”
“You don’t think it will?”
“I think this one has pockets and that’s so fun!” This time she holds the magazine up to her chest. “Plus, it’s a two piece, so you can pee whenever!”
Snickering is attached to a small headshake.
“Did you never dream about this shit when you were a kid?” She plops the object back onto the counter. “Play dress up?” Her bare feet get pulled into her seat. “Pretend you were a Disney Princess, put a bowtie on the dog to be your prince, and then get married in your backyard?”
“Isn’t that bestiality?”
“I didn’t say bang the dog, Bunny!” A gentle push of my knee is delivered by a set of her toes. “I said marry!”
“First comes love…then comes marriage…then comes-”
“Ohmygod!” croaks Posie again on a second shove. “Shut up!”
Laughs echoing around the empty shop easily precede me inquiring, “You gonna close up early today too?” Scribbling the lyrics brought up earlier effortlessly persists. “I know that’s what everyone else in town is planning.”
“Likely.” She turns a page. Another. “I mean I’ve only had two people besides you come into the shop today and one was Paolo.”
“Just to say hi?”
“And to bring me a treat from the grocery store. He’s staying at my place for a few nights, and I don’t have like shit to eat, so he said he’d grab us a few things.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Right?!” More girlish blushing occurs. “Such a keeper.”
After a short lull, I curiously prod, “So, who was the other?”
“Some Hollywood housewife reject that complained about the ‘smell in here’ so loudly that I had to crack the back door open to get her to shut the fuck up.”
A displeased grunt is given. “Did she at least buy something?”
“An old shag rug, couple of tacky throw pillows, and a set of orange sheets.” The sound of her flipping to the next section of the magazine is slipped between statements. “None of which matched each other, by the way.”
“Maybe she’s redecorating different rooms?”
“Dono. Dontcare.” She barely pauses. “Now, let’s say you do decide to have a wedding…”
Amusement over the return to what’s obviously her preferred subject isn’t hidden.
“And let’s say you do decide to have a bridal party…”
Digging the pen into my skin a little harder is attached to a snigger.
“And let’s say that you wanted me to be in the bridal party – for the sake of pretend-”
“For the sake of pretend, of course,” I teasingly concur.
“Would you be thinking something like this,” the thick booklet is once more slid towards my computer, prompting me to view what’s being displayed, “where all the bridesmaids wear the same shit despite our vastly different body types and color pallets or…” she points to the other page, “would you be thinking something like this where it’s one godawful color but at least we can choose the cut?”
Humor remains in my glare as it meets hers. “You always pretended to be the bride never the bridesmaid, didn’t you?”
“Gotta go big or go home, sweetie.”
“No, I gotta pee.” Giggles escape us both during my rise to my feet. “Be right back.”
To no surprise, I’m not even six feet away when she calls out, “What kinda cake do you want?!”
A fond memory convinces me to spin on my heels to answer alongside my retreating. “Blue.”
“Like the color blue or the flavor blue?”
“Seriously?! Blue is not a flavor!”
“Sure, it is!”
Warm laughs propel me to shake my head and face forward to finish my trek to the back.
While peeing more often is not something I enjoy – whatsoever – doing it in a clean bathroom – that I didn’t have to help clean – is absolutely appreciated.
Between me and Kipp everything stays pretty tidy.
Towels put away.
Toothpaste rinsed out of the sink.
Empty shampoo bottles removed.
But Mutt?
Mutt’s the problem.
Man cannot aim for shit when he’s too tired or its too dark.
And no matter how much he swears the drops of piss that end up near the bowl but not in it aren’t his, we all know that they are.
I think it adds to the reason why my ass is hoping for a girl rather than a boy.
He can’t be trusted to teach the little guy how to fucking aim.
Peeing, washing my hands, and drying them take almost no time; however, the moment alone to debate over the day’s discussion subject is welcomed.
I think I do want a wedding.
Nothing huge because I don’t know that many people and Mutt doesn’t like that many people.
Something outdoors would be nice.
Maybe somewhere with lots of flowers.
Lots of bright and blooming flowers.
Perhaps we BBQ and do beers instead of champagne – not that I get to drink either.