Turnabout is fair play.


I sat down at the table across from him, hoping the thoughts running through my head weren’t rolling out like a ticker tape banner across my face. I had the wonderful misfortune of inheriting my Grandmother’s Irish green eyes and the temper to match. I’m not good at keeping my feelings to myself, though most times there’s no need to ask if I’m upset. If my eyes don’t alert you, my eyebrows will. Subtlety is not my cup of tea.

I’m mad at him and he knows it. He’s fighting to keep the corners of his mouth from curling into a smile and I’m simmering.

McH- I had something interesting happen.

Me- That’s nice.

McH- Yeah… I was sitting at the bar, having a beer when Mrs. Margarita turned to me and said “Are you Incredicock?”

I gasped & my mouth fell open. I haven’t been that stunned in a long time, but eventually laughed while he gave me the gory details. He prides himself on not reading but is aware of what I’ve nicknamed him. Ironically enough, I’m one of those prudish girls who hates the words cock & cunt. I could never call him Incredicock to his face, so to hear him say it out loud was shocking.

I’m always a little surprised anybody bothers to read while I whine on endlessly, especially when it’s about a man behaving all too basic. To hear that it’s a friend of ours and one that reads enough to identify him from my indefinite rambling on? To his face? Well, that makes my whole damn month.

It serves him fucking right. đŸ˜› I’m over here suffering, missing him like crazy while he laughs about it.

To my darling Mrs. Margarita,

Thank you, my darling lady-love! You’re a true homie. I appreciate you handing him some of my suffering in a shocking little bomb of a package. You’re amazing and I only wish I were there too!

xo J

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