why I feel like a writer (sometimes).
J (on vacation this week) and I took the kids out for a late lunch today. As we exited my car and got over the breath-sucking 95°(F) humid air, we saw a couple step out of a giant white SUV near us. They were dressed in a business-like manner. All proper and neat and such.
J: I hope they didn’t get dressed up to come here. [Casual yet incredibly delicious Mexican restaurant]
Me: No… they obviously came from work… from some office. And that’s not his wife. It’s some coworker with whom he’s having an affair.
J: So they came here in plain sight in the middle of the afternoon?
Me: They don’t have to worry about the wife catching on because he already murdered her. They’re here to celebrate. But the celebration will be cut short when sexy McGarrett and the Five-0 team show up.
J: You’ve lost it.
Me: Yeah, I know. That can’t be right… we don’t live in Hawaii. Sucks.
J: Yeah, that’s the issue. Seriously… what is wrong with you?
Me: I write stories. And I watch too much television.
[Also, bite me.]
[Okay, I did not say the ‘bite me’ part. But I thought it.]
[I know I’m not special… I’m sure many of you invent stories about random people… but I wanted to share with people who ‘get me’… plus I love my fantasy man…]