my first impression was how much bleach she uses for that hair

my first impression was how much bleach she uses for that hair

A Story by Philip Gaber

She continued going about how she’d recently become a vegan.

“Froot Loops are actually vegan,” she said.

“Really?” I said.

“Mm hm. Basically, I became a vegan because eating meat and dairy products means animal suffering and slaughtering. I don’t want to be a part of that. Plus, I gave up meat in support of world hunger.”

I nodded.

“I’m currently hunting for non-leather shoes because I’ve only got two pairs.  My main concern is my family, friends, and acquaintances.  Someone always brings up the subject of me being a vegan…and, of course, they don’t understand the difference between being a vegetarian and a vegan, so I’m just A Vegetarian.”  She shrugged bitterly. “And then there’s the whole issue about organic foods and how costly they are…now, the issue of paying ridiculously high prices for organic fruits and vegetables really angers me.  Why should I have to pay not to be poisoned?  Shouldn’t it be the standard that there isn’t any crap in my food?  I think it’s sick. Similarly,  why should I be exposed to pollution and toxic air?  Why is that accepted?”

She looked at me as if I was about to cut the throat of a calf.

That’s when her cell phone rang, thank God.

“Oops, sorry, gotta take this call,” she said.

I smiled wearily and walked toward the exit sign.

Before I reached the doorway, I looked back at her.

She was lighting a cigarette.  I wondered if they were vegan cigarettes.

“Dump him!” she said into the phone.  “He’s got a personality disorder!  Leave him at once and go to a local shelter!”

As I got into my car and drove away, I turned on the radio.  Dr. Ginger was on.  She was a nationally syndicated talk show host who’d bailed on her own marriage after “discovering her own true brutal nature.” She had become somewhat of a heroine among sexually frustrated, pre-menopausal secular humanists.

“At this point,” she told a caller from Santa Cruz.  “You should befriend a closeted homosexual who is about your age and needs a ‘front.’  Trot him around to all the family get-togethers.  Tell your parents that you dumped the other guy.  You may eventually have to marry the gay guy to keep it all believable, but that’s ok - until you end up sharing a man, but we won’t get into that…”

I changed the station, driving away from the sun.

© 2024 Philip Gaber

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I created that girl on an AI platform. Am I an E-God? 'Cause she looks like somebody I could easily petition with prayer. Wow! I do always seem to hook up with women like her. All the drama and fun are affixed together with Super Glue.

Posted 1 Week Ago

Heh, your first mistake was driving AWAY from the sun. Second, you had me at “froot loops” . Best line: “She looked at me as if I was about to slit the throat of a calf.” And sounds like you date women like my sister….don’t worry, she rooms with a gay guy. I’m trying to explore or figure out how to storytell/ write anecdotes. Communication isn’t about short or long form literature…. And certainly not in todays age… so your writes fits this form… Jerry Seinfeld started “Comics in cars sharing coffee” or something like that. He first produced it all himself… and I liked that format. A more casual, less produced version of his TV show… sadly, not all his comics really got the premise… but in the beginning I found it interesting. As a musician, hanging out, telling stories/anecdotes about other musicians, contractors, bandleaders, gigs, ex-girlfriends, was great entertainment and part of the fabric of being a full-time musician, not just a weekend warrior… now just flip out musician for plumber, dentist, stock brokers and a*s models…. You get the idea. Keep digging into this, I’ll let you borrow my shovel.

Posted 1 Week Ago

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2 Reviews
Added on June 10, 2024
Last Updated on June 10, 2024


Philip Gaber
Philip Gaber

Charlotte, NC

I hate writing biographies. I was one of those kids who rode a banana seat bike and watched Saturday morning cartoons and Soul Train. But my mother would never buy any of those sugary cereals for us k.. more..

comfort comfort

A Poem by Philip Gaber