I was writing a post for today, but, I could not get it right. I may give it another shot tomorrow. However, the lack of a post for today was stressing me out. So, while shooting the poop with Molly, two sentences popped into my head. They were followed by an idea to give myself 15 minutes (it was 10 at first, but I am yappy) to try to create a moderately entertaining short story.
And this is what I came up with…
It wasn’t the worst break-up in the history of break-ups.
Though how depressing a book would THAT make?
They dated for three years.
“We dated for four years,” he told a friend.
What? I was close.
“She’s a no good, dirty, lying sack of shit ho bag,” his friend gently reminded him.
“Don’t hold back on my account,” he replied.
“But, I did.”
“Wait… She’s a sack AND a bag?”
He cared about her a lot. He didn’t see the break-up coming.
According to iTunes, he listened to Bob Dylan’s “Shelter From The Storm” 739 times in a month.
His family was worried about him. Especially his mother.
“I was up all night writing a country song,” he told her.
“Sounds like a good outlet for your pain,” his mom encouraged.
“I DON’T WRITE MUSIC.”
He knew that she wasn’t the best girlfriend ever. She was self-absorbed. Vain. Not overly kind. She quoted from “Sex and the City” entirely too much.
And she wouldn’t scratch his back.
He LOVED a good back-scratchin’.
He couldn’t reach the sweet spot by himself. He had pretty short arms. Like a dinosaur.
And this made him feel underappreciated. Like a dinosaur.
He couldn’t concentrate at work. This lead to him making a teensy screw-up.
It might have involved a microwave and a pacemaker. A little bit.
He got fired.
And one night, while watching “Matlock” at 3 am, he hatched a plan.
He was going to sue her.
He was going to strike a blow for everyone that has ever had their heart broken.
He was going to show her that she can’t be so cavalier with someone else’s feelings.
He was going to never watch “Matlock” again.
It blows. You ever try to watch that sumbitch?
So, he found a heart-broken lawyer to take his case. The heart-broken lawyer found a thrice-jilted judge to try it. The thrice-jilted judge found a dry cleaner that had been left at the altar.
But, that has very little to do with our story.
The trial began. He could barely look at the harpy. Witness after witness told his side of the story. The judge looked very sympathetic.
One day on lunch break, he bumped into the court stenographer. He noticed her long nails. He said, “Wow. I bet that you could really scratch a back with those things.” She gave him a quick free sample, smiled and went back into the court room.
For the rest of the trial, he could not keep his eyes off the stenographer. Her nimble fingers recording for history just how badly he had been treated.
His ex and her lawyer told her side of the story.
Met when they were young.
Wanted different things.
She was a complete floozy.
He may have misheard the last one.
Then, on the last day of the trial, just before the judge was to deliver his ruling, he stood up — much to the shock of his lawyer. The lawyer gasped. Partially because his boxers shifted on him in a most uncomfortable way. Though, still, the moment WAS shocking.
He told the judge that he was no longer mad at his ex and wanted to call the whole thing off.
The judge went along with it. It turns out that he had a raging ebay addiction (miniature pony figurines mostly) and, honestly, wasn’t really a very good judge at all.
So, he left the courtroom hand in hand with the stenographer. He was smiling for the first time in months.
His ex was relieved. She got in her car and headed for home.
Two blocks later she ran into a cement truck (and would spend 6 months in a full body cast.)
Yeah, he had cut her brake line.
“What do you think Carrie and Miranda would say about that, bitch?”