Post-Oops

Oh, boy. I’ve done it now. I’ve said what I believe to be the truth. Or rather, I thought it. I thought the truth and it leaked out. Did I mean it? Sure. Does it matter? Not really. At least not to me. She, she on the other hand, she is pissed.She is trying really hard to be pissed right now. I need to think of something brilliant here. This is not where I am best. I am not a black mamba.

My first instinct is “I don’t know.” That never works past the age of six. It’s like second-hand electronics. “I don’t know” is worse than anything you could say, because to her, that means “I don’t care.” To guys, it just means “Fuck, I’m a guy and that’s what we do.” We need passes for these circumstances. A “Get out of jail” pass. Not “jail” she would say; “fail”.

She’s waiting intently for a miracle. How long has it been? Feels like days. I would twiddle my thumbs if this were a movie. She can hear me thinking, purring like a cat. Purring like an old computer, blinking it’s little “think” light furiously like a baby at a windy beach, even when there’s no programs running. Not thinking looks like a struggle for a computer that’s seen a lot of porn. Not that I would know. “Yes you would” she would say.

Cornered in such a position I may have to go with “I didn’t mean that”. Similar to “I don’t know”, “I didn’t mean that” attempts to shift the focus off the offensive comment and onto your own stupidity. I’m so retarded, I said something I didn’t even mean to say. Life is just that kind of struggle. I would like a prize for all I’ve accomplished under such circumstances.

Woah, when did she get that mug? I’ve never seen that mug. I’ve gotta do dishes before dinner. Hmmm, dinner. Chicken or beef? I think I’m out of chicken but I don’t have spaghetti sauce. Shit. Pancakes it is. I’m way too excited about the cap on the Hungry Jack syrup that looks like a smiley face. My only complaint is that it should make smiley face drizzles on my warm, fluffy pancakes. That would be nice.

“I don’t know”