Monday, April 21, 2008

He had that secret smile ... that sort of half-laughter that tugs at the corners of your mouth but you are enjoying yourself too much to let others share.

He could see I was my usual bundle-of-nerves self, with my usual yearning to escape any conversation possible -- I had unthinkingly put my hand on the door handle, quite ready to leave when allowed -- yet he played the dummard, asking your usual "so how's it going" questions, all those queries that have ridiculously obvious answers, and delighting himself with my anguish as I answered politely; he was laughing at me.

Fortunately, I was laughing at him too. Thank you, novelty baseball tie. You were so ludicrous I don't know how he let you leave the house around his handsome neck. 

posted at 10:11:44 am

J f Z
April 21, 2008   04:49 PM PDT
 
This is like having a "No. You are." argument with my cat.
Deirdre
April 21, 2008   02:25 PM PDT
 
I love the way you tell your stories!
Halcyon
April 21, 2008   02:05 PM PDT
 
It ambushed him on way out, screaming a silent war cry as it clung to his throat

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Glo'ri'a'na, noun:
1. An alternative form of "Gloria."
2. As "Americana" defines itself as artefacts of American culture, "Gloriana" consists of the artefacts of my culture.


   



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