Chapped Pride
I blow softly on my Ham-on-Rye and watch the gossamer flakes of skin slowly fall to the floor, where a breeze scatters them. I sigh, and then wince as I take another bite. The bread is toasted to a golden brown, and its rough surface scrapes a few more strips from my lips, this time drawing blood.
I notice Lily staring at me as I chew, still proffering that small white cylinder.
"For heaven's sake, just use the lip balm," she says. "I'm wrong, okay? I'm wrong. It is bee poo. Just put some on."
Petulant cow. I will do no such thing.
I think gossamer is one of my new favorite words.
Posted by: Gretchen | November 22, 2006 at 03:39 PM
Mine too, Gretchen. And I'm intent on working it into the conversation over Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow.
Posted by: Laura | November 22, 2006 at 05:47 PM
I can empathize with the protagonist. Or was he the villain?
Posted by: Doc Bollywood | November 25, 2006 at 11:51 PM