This morning I had a pleasant conversation with my father, the educator and my mother, the writer who was enthusiastic about rounding off the first of her new projects today.
I attended university and quickly became bored of the limited conversation on the topics of football and the women appearing on music videos (skimpy with clothes and morals it seems) that were playing. Since Thom did not show up and not wanting to compromise etiquette I invented an emergency trumpet lesson so that I could leave the drinking establishment and head to Woodwoods instead.
On arrival I began perusing the articles in the window before heading inside to deliver greetings and salutations. The woman inside recognised me from my last visit and asked what I had been up to since. I described how I attended a lecture where I had more knowledge that the lecturer himself and how I am single-handedly responsible for getting not only myself but my classmates through their coursework and exams.
Being very tall I peered over the counter and noticed that the woman had been engrossed in a novel, and in particular one I had previously read and thoroughly enjoyed. This aroused my interest as to what her views were on it. Her comments were mature, thoughtful and well formed. It appeared that we had similar tastes though the idea of the story about the two cowboys (which I have recently read) did not seem to interest her.
She then enquired, "So can I help you to anything?". Her voice was very gentle. I was taken for a brief moment.
During our literary exchange it struck me that she either made much more of an effort today to look substantially more attractive or I simply did not notice the lustre of this female when I was here previously and was very very annoyed - that being during the economic episode with my tuition fees.
I describe a large woman with a symmetrically plump face, a big bonnet of died blonde hair wearing 2 piece black outfit with an intense pink flower design which cut down the breast area showing a colourful chest and all of her neck. The pearl necklace she was wearing was on full show complimenting her large poppy shaped gold earrings. Her aroma had an almost magnetic quality to it which triggered all sorts of reactions. I believe she was also aroused to some degree by my presence.
I ordered my usual of a fairy cake, a chocolate éclair, split bun (with the cream in the crack of course). I can eat all of these foods since I am extremely fit and my impressive figure is maintained automatically.
As she gracefully glided about the cabinets her smell proliferated (that means spread) about the room. I began to feel a stirring within myself unsure exactly what this was. Feeling very outrageous I plumped for the very large jam tart, no doubt a result of her feminine wilds.
She dipped her prestigious reading glasses, "would you like a bag with that?" she purred. It took slightly longer that usual to process what she had said. I lowered my glasses and made a gentle growl that encapsulated the word "yes".
I left gobbling the tart and as I looked back through the window I collided with someone! Normally I would be annoyed with myself. I am seriously considering inviting her out to coffee.
My mother, the writer, was in a good mood this morning and having also noticed that her diary was empty I imagined she had prepared a large English dish usually consisting of meat and two vegetables which my mother, the writer, would usually prepare on this particular day of the week. I was more pleased with myself when I considered that my treats would make very suitable desserts.
I arrived and there was no meal to be found! The kitchen had clearly not been used for the entire day! I protested.
In response my mother, the writer, suggested (in an unnecessarily aggressive tone) that I go buy something to eat. This was unacceptable and I informed her I had no money left and described in great detail all the choices of confectionery that I had bought.
I attempted to repeat the explanation for my requirement for variation in meals that are able to satisfy my palette and stimulate many of my senses simultaneously. She reached for her purse and it was at this point I believe she shouted “stop being a stuck up little f***ing prick and go get a b@$*ard pizza or something!” whilst volleying assorting coinage towards my head!
The fact that this verbal bile was out coming out of my mothers brain and mouth was unfathomable! She knows I dislike pizza! - though not as much as MacDonald's.
The events of the day left me discombobulated (that means confused) so I soothed my mood by reading some weightlifting magazines, ate my cakes and went to bed.
I will be speaking with my father, the educator about the incidents where meals are not prepared.
Alternative Styles |
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