11
The Dick
Days 16, 17, and 18
She not only ate mypancakes. She. Fucking. Pinched. Me! I thought us both to be adults, not back in the days of middle school. To think, I actually thought we had come to an unspoken agreement and were nearing something new. No. She met my hateful actions and raised the bar with pain.
No matter how deep my hatred for blueberries ran, I would have eaten the last bite of the wretched pile of shit if the owner hadn’t come to the table and told me to leave. In an attempt to keep her from enjoying what she was eating, I took the fork from her mouth every chance I got. After the cook, whom I learned was also the owner, came to the table, I threw a fifty onto the table, walked out, and hadn’t returned.
I had no idea why someone eating something I didn’t want in the first place was so infuriating, but it was. It pissed me off.
I cracked open a bottle of beer…or five…and maybe I had a few more after that. I wanted to forget her altogether, along with the rest of the world.