Life can be challenging. My doctor told me I have something called GERD. I must stop drinking alcohol. Fried foods and chocolate are a no-no. These were my favorite things in the world next to marijuana. I told this to my girlfriend. I think she blocks out most of what I say–she suggested we go get a drink. I tell myself one bourbon won’t hurt. The fried cheese balls she orders are only inches from my reach. I eat a few. On the way home she breaks off a corner of a Hershey bar and says, “go ahead it’s only a little piece.” Later the burping brings acid from my stomach into my esophagus. The heartburn pain is unbearable. Tums don’t work at all. I have learned my lesson. No more alcohol, chocolate or Fried foods. Most important avoid my girlfriend whenever possible or suffer in pain and agony…
Elevator! Elevator! We got the shaft! The cheerleaders are doing a bang up job tonight. My prom date is co-captain. Her blond hair bobs into the air as she drops down to do a split. Her bouncing skirt revealing for a split second something that I would never get. My life is like that. You can’t always get what you want. I couldn’t get what I really needed.
Since I am always in the doghouse with my girlfriend, I would like to find a plastic surgeon to marry. A nip here, a tuck there, I could look twenty years younger. Then a kidney transplant, and replace other organs that have taken a beating. I’ll be good as new and ready for sex, drugs, and rock and roll.
She liked to drink. She was a laugher. I liked her hair. We talked for hours. I walked her home. She was staying at the shelter for abused women. We kissed.
In the summer of 2016, after dinner on the screened porch, in front of her son and his girlfriend, I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me. With blushing cheeks she said yes.
We are two longtime independent people. We have yet to set the date to tie the knot. There is no time limit on being engaged. I think it is the next best thing to marriage.
May I rest my finger on your butt crack? At ten years old I asked her ,because I had been smacked very hard before. I negotiated this move and It paid off. My hand never ventured inside of her jeans. This uncharted territory would have to wait until I was twelve and drunk. The reaction I got from this simple laying of finger was to have a rocket ready to spit up. Amazing. Few things have affected my life more than this.
If there was an Olympic event for saying “I’m sorry,” in an eight hour period, I might get a silver medal. I said it 23 times the other day. I’m sorry I have to say it so often. If there was an Olympic event for fast love making. I would get the gold medal. I finished in less than two minutes last year. That included foreplay. I’m not going to Rio…my games are right at home.