Kuss kuss

Imagine a fish.
A big, stinking fish.
A goldfish, if you will.
Now get that fish and
blend it.
Alive, please, blend it alive.
Now get this
bloody
smelly
fish paste and toss some nails into it.
Blend that too, Snooper. Sure, it'll ruin
the blades but do it anyway.
Now toss in some hydrochloric acid and whiskey
and light the whole thing
on fire.

That was my Spring Break.
Troy called twelve and a half hours before
we were due to leave for our trip.
He called not to say that
he loves me
or to say that
he missed me
but to cancel our three-day camping trip in Haltom.

Why? I asked.
"Alyson needs help moving into her new apartment."
"What about James? Can't James do it? He's
her boyfriend.
He's supposed to do those sorts of things."
"They broke up. She asked me specifically to help."

Now I'm okay with him
helping Alyson (that skank)
and I'm okay with the fact that she's
single and on the prowl for a quick and easy
rebound romance
but I'm not okay with him
canceling our plans.

So what else was I supposed to do?
I had my bags packed already,
reservations made and paid for at the grounds
and they were
non-refundable.
What else was I supposed to do, Snooper?
I called Tom. He was going to be in town anyway.
We made it to the campgrounds (only three
hours later that expected)
and we took another three hours
setting up the tent.
Will I tell Troy I went camping anyway?
Maybe. He should feel terrible for missing it.
Will I tell him I went with Tom instead?
Not a chance in heaven.
Will I mention that we got tipsy on old Jack Daniels and kissed under
a moonless sky?
No (and it's not nearly as romantic as you would think when there are
tons of mosquitoes and grumpy, camping families
surrounding you.)

All in all, it was a very
awkward
fantastic
devious
itchy
Spring Break.