she put the baker through
the wringer.
I want fifty
small cakes, each one exactly
alike.
tiffany blue.
with little ribbons wrapped
around them.
three bites in each.
she handed him a picture
from a magazine.
the baker rolled his eyes
and shook his head.
gave her a price.
it was just one small thing
more
that revealed the insanity
I was dealing with.
she ordered them, cancelled
them, ordered them
once more,
before cancelling nearly
everything.
what would the boyfriend think,
the ex husband.
her harem of losers still
waiting for her return.
but like a fool I married her
and never got
the cake.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment