It Came From Black Friday

All things considered, I've just experienced the shortest twelve hours of my fucking life. How can a girl keep sane after standing in the same place for half a day with receipt tape piling up to her vaginaballs? This one certainly knows.

I drive home at the speed of nose-picking. I almost run over a black man on his bicycle. He mouths some disgruntled sentence at me while driving across the intersection without a street-crossing light to signal him. I roll the rest of the way home, reimagining every event I had been through over the past twelve hours, only now dreaming up alternate universe scenarios where I inevitably get arrested for second degree murder.

When I finally arrive at my apartment, it's a battle between compulsive flatulence and gravity. Isaac Newton wins, and soon my bony ass is seated on the sofa before the t.v. Jesus, my fucking feet reek of Eminem's unwashed testicles. Let's see, what's on the television? Oh look, the news. What has Obama raped and murdered today? Uh huh. Uh huh. Uh huh--fuck it. I'm Netfixing the shiet out of this evening.

Kicking back, I allow the blood to return to my blood. I gaze at the ceiling, digging a finger into my ear.

And it is around this moment of graceful repose that I pause to think out loud...

"Did I leave Nancy behind in that pony potpourri fart world?"

Silence. Not even the lead in my house's paint says a word.

"Oh well." I yawn cutely and curl up into the sofa cushion. "What's the worst that could happen...?"