This Puddle
My ex-girlfriend could be very… expressive when she was
upset. She also didn't get things the way other people would.
I told her we were breaking up, I couldn't see her
anymore and she needed to get her things and leave. She was upset, naturally.
She said, “I can't believe you're breaking up with me over this puddle on the kitchen floor.”
She said, “I can't believe you're breaking up with me over this puddle on the kitchen floor.”
I shook my head and said, “You can’t? Really? First of all, dear, even though I had much more important issues to attend to you refused to clean it up. Second, it was a lot of blood.
Third, you fucking stabbed me over using the last of the
ranch dressing!"
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I'm writing about my lived experiences and finding humor in the absurdity that surrounds us. If you are offended, your inferences of my writing likely bear little resemblance to the reality of what I'm trying to convey. Go bother someone else with your straw men. Trust me, there are much bigger fish to fry than a sometimes blogger like myself. If you can't find humor in what I've written, then this isn't for you. I'm sure your complaints will be welcome at any number of radical friendly left or right websites.
Blessed are the peacemakers.