Tacos, Flowers and a Swingy Summer Frock

I was mad at a friend of mine yesterday. Not mad in a “I want to wrestle you in a vat of Jello Pudding and pull your hair” sort of way, more mad in a shouty, unreasonable, carry the hell on sort of way.

So, I was shouty, and he was quiet, mostly.

And somewhere in between "You are a giant wiener face, because you don’t listen to me EVER about ANYTHING, because you are a giant WIENER FACE! and, FINE! I will shut up and stop calling you names."

I think I said something about tacos and flowers, as in, "The only way I am going to shut the hell up is if you bring me tacos or flowers, because you don’t listen to me EVER about ANYTHING!"

He brought me tacos.

Then we were friends again. I was all smirky and self-satisfied because I won the fight.

He brought me tacos!

Then he ate all of the tacos right in front of me.

Not only that, but he told me that it looked like I was wearing a smock. I told him what he meant to say was “frock” I was wearing a swingy summer frock.
Then he said “No, it is a smock, and I am being kind calling it a smock. What it really is, is tragic”

Now I am mad again, and he is all smirky and self-satisfied.

The End

Out-T