I Usually Know Almost Exactly How I

That Hurt Querida, That Really Hurt

Did You See Him? I Know The Photo Was Grainy, But He Looks Like One Of Those Death Metal Goth Heads, Or Whatever They’re Called. All Dressed In Black With Long Hair I Took Umbrage At My Mother Describing My Boyfriend This Way. John Was The Lord Of The Underworld. How Else Was He Supposed To Dress?

It’s My Own Fault, Really. For Believing In Fairy Tales. Not That I Ever Mistook Them For Actual Historical Fact, Or Anything. But I Did Grow Up Believing That For Every Girl, There’s A Prince Out There Somewhere. All She Has To Do Is Find Him. Then It’s On With The Happily Ever After. So You Can Only Imagine What Happened When I Found Out. That My Prince Really Is One. A Prince. No, I Really Mean It. He’s An Actual Prince.

Not Like This Vision Before Us, Who Was Shaking Water Out Of His Slightly Overlong Reddish-brown Hair As He Leaned Over To Lay Down His Board (revealing, As He Did So, The Fact That Beneath His Baggy Swim Trunks—so Weighted Down With Water That They Had Sunk Somewhat Dangerously Low On His Hips—lurked What Appeared To Be An Exceptionally Well-formed Gluteus Maximus)

I Needed Another Soda. I’d Only Had Six Since Breakfast.