300 Words or Less: Exactly

What kind of love is okay? In 300 words or less we find out. More info and writing on this and other tidbits can be found down the veritable rabbit hole at: kickingcorners.blogspot.com

“To top it off,” I’m regaling my friend on our way to the movie with my latest failed-date story. She’s leaning over, head down, slapping the dashboard and laughing so hard she’s silent, shoulders shuddering. I snort, continuing, “She told me the odd collection of jars on the shelf above her cups are in fact not empty. They’re full of air. Her supply for the apocalypse.”

My friend had sat up, making an attempt at self-control, but she doubles over again.

“I left pretty much right then. She asked if I wanted a hit. I mean, really?”

“Stop!” she wails, rolling down the window and sticking her head out sideways. “I’m going to piss myself!” I know she’s directing this at me, but the bundled-up couple holding hands, walking slowly as we drive by, do not. 

They look at us dirty.

So I honk and wave. 

“I kid you not,” pulling her back in and rolling the window up from my side. It’s February, for god’s sake. I hate being cold. “I don’t know where I find these chics. Hot is not, apparently.”

My friend is wiping her eyes and hiccupping. “Ah,” she sighs. “Maybe you should try dating on the other side of the fence. Guys aren’t so bad, eh?”

I snort again, but when I look over I realize she’s being serious. As serious as she can be with dark makeup-streaks tracking down her cheeks, residual laughter bubbling up.

I’m not interested in my friend, whatsoever, but I run my fingers along the inside of her thigh. “Maybe I should try dating you.”

“Please, girl,” her look is slight and she rolls her eyes, moving her leg away. “You know I’m not like that.”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly what?” she says, still grinning, fixing her mascara in the passenger-side mirror.