Let me paint a painfully proverbial picture for you all this morning. I’m playing chess. Not the painful part… Wait for it. We are munching on grilled cheese sandwhiches, tomato soup, hot cocoa, pretzels and orange juice. Hush… It was delicious. There could be more …odd combinations… but this was ours.
I decide to stop inhaling my orange juice-which I dip my pretzels into to- so I could adjust my seated position. I seriously have no circulation in my legs. They fall asleep more than I do. Ow. Pins and needles. Pins and needles. And when I did, a couple pretzels that I apparently sat aside for later came tumbling down my blanket. Guess I’m a squirrel hiding acorns now. So I quickly picked them up and stick them in my mouth. But wasn’t eating them yet. Just keeping them close. Don’t want them to go to waste. Or break. Or run off. I made another move on the board… Knight to bishop. Haha! Suck it. And then grab the pretzel sticks out of my mouth…
And ripped the skin right off my bottom lip. Holy giraffe balls! So when it’s cold outside, apparently, you cannot only… Not put your mouth on frozen light posts… but putting your mouth on dry, salted pretzels will put you in the hospital too. And try to kill you. I always knew my life would be cut short by a sourdough bullet. There’s a little reminder of two skinless shaped pretzel sticks on my bottom lip. How am I supposed to apply lipstick now? It burns when I gloss up. Not even medicated Chapstick can save me now. Well… Serves me right. My pretzel greed was real. Couldn’t just let the little twists just fall off the blanket… The fuckery.