Keeping in shape for NaNoWriMo: Topic of the week: Bubbles. Her name, she said, was Bubbles, and I didnt argue the point. Her personality reflected it, not in a sparkling, flitty personality, but in how dangerously close her head was to drifting off into the aether before popping, were it not tethered to her body by way of the growth sprouting from her shoulders I assumed was her neck. I figured she would have the speech patterns of a teen-aged valley girl, but was surprised when she drawled out the most stoner-ific and least cute "Hey yall" I had ever heard. It was then I swore off online dating for the third or fourth time that month. Me, being a simple Irish kid with an accent that only appears when I start talking fast, have an appreciation for many things. The four food groups (Meat, cheese, potatoes and whiskey) for example, are wonderful. Doubly so for light-eyed, light-haired light-skinned gaerls with freckles. And bubbles was as light haired, light-eyed, light-skinned and, sadly, light-brained as they come. You could almost believe she was plucked from the soil by the bright red tips of her long locks just before some of the important bits had fully ripened. Her reading comprehension was the reason the Oxford comma saw widespread use. Without it, her ability to read lists and complex sentences would be rivaled by my trucks native ability to rev the collected works of Shakespeare as typed by monkeys, without gas in the tank. She was a pocket-sized firecracker without the explosion or the noise. Standing somewhere between my waist and my chest, the not quite pint-sized "Baehuuuuuuubles" had a form slightly larger than a breadbox, and a memory every bit as good as someone who cant remember what they did moments before; a memory deficiency so grand, by the time she looked up the clinical term in a medical dictionary, she would have forgotten what she was doing in the first place. Reminiscent of the movie Momento, save for the post-its, tattoos, charm, wit and anything that made the experience enjoyable for those watching. There was even a rumor that the carpets matched the drapes in such a fashion that around Christmastime, the mere act of walking normally could cause chestnuts to roast in her pockets. I, however, couldnt make it through conversation long enough to dare want to find out. Nice trick if its true though.
Posted on: Thu, 20 Jun 2013 08:50:38 +0000
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