All is well, as long as we keep spinning

This is the third tale. Continuing on from the other tales. They are all set way off the beaten track and far away into the dusty future. All based very, very, very loosely on a character created by Marla at Marla’s World for which the link (boldly and unapologetically) is https://marladragon.wordpress.com/2023/02/01/passthebaton-challenge-for-february-2023/. Read the following prose slowly, word by word because otherwise, the unusual word choices will trip you up.

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Anyway, talking about being tripped up, we went into town the other day to get something you won’t be interested in because it doesn’t need batteries. Bitches with big arses shouldn’t be allowed to wear dresses the way the dames in this town are doing. At least that’s what I thought I heard.

“You go on ahead,” I told Stella and when she did I set to following this guy. And yeah, before you ask, I was surprised she didn’t put up a fuss too.

He (the guy that is) was solidly built for someone who looked like he was wasting away in his face. You know the kind I mean: sallow with jowls that looked like they were trying to slip unobtrusively into his shirt then down his body and legs to join his feet. I wasn’t averse to his face. I wasn’t even carrying much enmity for the way his left shoes slipped off the back of his left foot with every second step. I was more interested in where he got his delightful (yeah, sarcasm) views on endomorphic women and their sartorial choices. I hoped I would find out.

He went into the greengrocers. I don’t much like those places on account of the holier-than-thou attitude they have towards carnivores like me. I say that if you’ve got teeth you should be chewing on something harder than lapsy-papsy rice dishes carrying vegetables that’ve had the life killed right out of ’em by boiling water. Still, that don’t stop me from loving Stella. She is her own woman and that’s that.

I followed him in.

He had hair but nothing he could be proud of. Heck, if I was him I’d be more proud of the ginger hair on the backs of my knuckles even if they were getting mucked up from being drug along making grooves in the dust along the aisle of the shop. But I digress.

I was watching him over the apples when Stella walked in. She saw me straight off. Perhaps she was following me all along. I’ll ask her later if you like.

“What you doing?”

She said doing in a rollercoaster way: dipping down then up again into something that sounded like it should be fun but at the same time dangerous as if she could fall off, plummet down to the ground and take you with her. In fact, the look on her face was one of those that made you think that she was going to wrap her arms around you and jump. I made a mental note never to take up an invitation from her to visit the Grand Canyon or Niagra Falls or …

“Erm.” I was trying to buy me some time to think of more high places I wouldn’t like to be parachuted without a parachute from but she knew that look on my face I guess and frowned in a way that told me she wasn’t playing.

“I said …”

“I know what you said, Stella. I ain’t in no way deficient in my hearing. You keep that chicken knife in your coat and don’t look at me in that tone of voice neither. I was just looking at apples and that’s that.”

She said this: “you don’t like apples” real low down.

“Okay, okay, I was looking for a reason not to injure this guy, okay?” He looked up just as I nodded towards him. Typical.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don’t you just injure him?”

“Because it’s not the done thing.”

“Since when did you care?”

She had a good point. I’m tall, slender, womanly in all the right places (mainly dive bars and the bathroom) and as strong as fury when I put my mind to it. I wouldn’t fancy his chances in a dark alley and so he’d seriously have no chance of being anything short of sorry with an apple in his mouth in a greengrocer.

Anyway, by that time he’d scuttled off and it’s a fact that May sunshine is too good to waste being indoors and so me and Stella …

But that’s a whole ‘nother story. Go to sleep now.

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