Showing posts with label my sacrifice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my sacrifice. Show all posts

Thursday, July 27, 2017

Wear Doomed

Zestful Blog Post #222

I’ve become a lurker on Reddit, where I keep my finger on the pulse of the language of the Internet, the current usage and word spellings. If you’re unfurmiliar, Reddit is where you can post stuff on line.

They’re a lot of great stories on Reddit. I guess I could write one. For instants, I remember in junior high when I dawned a Start Trek uniform and lead my pals on a quest. Autumn had came, and we wanted to build a bond fire. We dragged over some old wood palettes from the back of the school. But when it came down to brass tax, we didn’t have any matches. My boyfriend, who had the face of a brauler—he had been in many brauls—decided to steal some from a party store. I was against stealing, exetera, but I chocked it up to his wanting to blead the system. Plus, I didn’t want to act like a Pre-Madonna.

Without further adieu, I hopped on my bike and rode to the pawn shop. I rode so fast I almost ran into a car, which had to slam on its breaks. At the shop, I hawked my class ring, which for all intensive purposes I didn’t need anymore. Not like I was at my boyfriend’s beckon call, but I did want to tow the line where the law was concerned, so I rode fast with my bran new ten dollars to the party store before he could choplift the matches.


However! Low and behold, this girl from marching band was their, hanging all over my guy. I saw the whole thing as soon as I stepped foot in the store. He saw me, and his face went beat red. The whole bond fire was a mute point now.

“Well, this is totally out of the blew,” I said. “Where did this retch come from?” I waited with baited breath to see what he would say.

He mumbled something I couldn’t here. I gave him a peace of my mind, then stormed off. Then I remembered I still had on my Start Trek shirt. I felt like an imbacel.

But you know what? The next day he comes over to my house with a big bokay of flowers. I was like????? He goes, “You’re a shoe-in to be my date for the prom.” So, he wanted to barry the hatchet.

You could knit-pick this story to death, and you probably will, but I feel like I got it out of my system and am back on an even keal. That’s my story—Reddit style.

[And yes, I’ve seen every one of those on Reddit. I keep a log. This is where literacy is headed, friends…]

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