Bright and early, up before the alarm, puppies fast asleep. Looking at these little beasties I quite simply couldn’t be happier. Put on the kettle, take my daily cocktail of meds, have my morning shit in the water closet. Puppies still asleep, so I grab my tea, snuggle back into bed, put on my non-prescription reading glasses (side note: at times like this I wish I had a monocle).
My novella of choice: Fifty Shades of Grey.
NOW HOLD UP! Before you all get up in my grill let me explain.
This book is shit, pure and sparkly shit. Monkeys could write better than this. It’s borderline Hooked on Phonix for first graders. This book is such as travesty that I will most likely use the pages to wipe my ass when I am done lowering my IQ. I’ll save money on TP and then I can actually afford a real book. (Another side note: For those of you who are aware of my strong dislike for Fable 3, as shitty as this book is I would rather read this book over and over again, than to hear anyone utter the words ‘Fable 3’. I would rather suck someones severe hammertoe than play Fable 3)
So the book is shit, but oddly enjoyable. And yes I am quite aware that the further I read I am just a stop closer to the short bus.
Anyways, a few shades in and the doorbell rings. Ahah, suspense I love suspense. Now, why the fuck would my doorbell be ringing so god damn early in the morning? Hell, I didn’t even know I had a doorbell. But back to the why? IN GODS NAME WHY? First off, I have no friends, second the bills are paid I swear, and thirdly if its the lady I smacked with her own flipflop…I am truly, truly sorry and would kindly ask for you to return under the bridge from which you came.
So Ativan kicking in, along with Xanax, Paxil and a few other TicTacs I cannot pronounce….Why am I melting…what is happening…Cait, do no pass go…
I put down Fifty Shades of Shit, get out of bed, think about putting on pants and brushing my hair, but don’t. Sometimes thinking is enough. Pfff, fuck it. You come here, to the place where I dwell, you ring my door bell, which I didn’t even know that I had, I will not furbish myself for you.
I creep down the stairs, bell rings again… Grab one of my shoes, just in case, take a deep breath and swing the door wide open. I mean I full on Bruce Lee’d this door down.
Is it an Angel? Oh gawd, Heavens Gate has found me. These drugs are really playing games with me. It is a boy, young, pre-adolescent, blonde hair, blue eyes, I really can’t decide if he’s a Nazi or a cherub…then I clue in…. Jehovah’s Witness….fuck me….I should have kept going to the church and if they allowed me to bring in my own bottle of wine this little Cherub Nazi would not be at my door, ring-a-ling-linging.
So since I don’t want JW going back home and whipping himself because I’m in my skivvies, I close the door so he can only see my one eyeball. I so wish I had a monocle, I would look so much more sophisticated in instances like this.
Cherub Nazi Boy: Ma’am.
Me: Oh gawd, don’t call me Ma’am. Ma’am is what you call the little old lady down the street who still has milk delivered.
Cherub Nazi Boy: Mrs…
Me: Nope, Not a hope in hell little boy. Yes, I swore on the Little Cherub Mother Fucker.
Cherub Nazi Boy: May I have you name?
Me: Sorry kid, the last thing I need is Chris Hansen interrogating me because I little munchkin is on my doorstep.
Cherub Nazi Boy: Miss?
Me: This little shit is persistent. Sure, Miss.
Cherub Nazi Boy: Can I tell you about your Father?
Me: So hold up, who the hell does this kid think he is? This kid wants to tell me who my father is. His peter guaranteed is no bigger than my thumb, fuck my balls are probably bigger and he has the nerve to want tell me who my father is. Sorry kid, me and my father go way back
Cherub Nazi Boy: Miss, God is your father.
Me: That is news to me. Seriously, kid I think you got the wrong daddy. My dad is tall, dark and native. Legit FBI (Fucking Big Indian) to the extreme.
Cherub Nazi Boy: Uh ma’am.
Me: Not this again. Listen kid, I ‘respect’ what you are doing. You got heart , clearly no soul and little do you know ‘Your Father’ is pimping you out, you little prost-i-tot, you. Go back to your flock of Little Nazi Cherubs, I am not flocking your way.
Cherub Nazi Boy: Uh, Miss…
Me: Fuck, I didn’t mean to swear or hurt your feelings. I’m just not interested. Your Papa I simply don’t preach.
Cherub Nazi Boy: Miss…may I have your number?
NOPE! NOPE! A BIG HELL NO! First this little shit goes from wanting to tell me who my daddy is, to asking for me number. This kid has serious mommy issues.
I close the door. I need another TicTac cocktail to process what just happened.
This folks, is a first for me. Kids scare me. The things that gets ingrained into their little brains scares me and apparently the meds I am on are starting to scare me too. I should probably call Dad.
Anyways long story short……..THE END.