I miss the store.  With what I am currently observing…I must say, this was not what I had dreamed of seeing when I was still sitting in the fridge with my comrades.

It was pleasant there.  Smelled nice.  Some soft elevator music would come in over the speakers whenever the door was opened.

Then this woman came in to the store yesterday and had a rush wedding.  She chose me and was all excited about it as she rambled on about her man and her eloping the next day and how she would be back for me with her sister who was paying before we would be whisked away in his SUV to see the judge.  Her blonde hair and southern twang told me I would be cherished forever.  She was probably the head cheerleader in her time.

Well…that was the plan.

I didn’t fuck this up…but somebody did.

I had my petals all puffed out the next day, ready for my big moment…until Bertha walked in.  Her red curls, leather vest, and tattooed shoulders had all of us giggling.  We had seen Bertha before, months ago, when she first came in to plan her affair with her betrothed motorcycle gang head of a fiancé.

As usual, the first word out of her mouth was “Fuck”.  Something about how slow the fucking service was and how she was fucking late and needed to get her fucking hair done, then go smoke some fucking weed before the service.

The one that was put together for her especially, got very lucky when it tried to hide at the back corner of the refrigerator and slipped off the shelf…and Alice, the shop-girl…not the sharpest bulb in the drawer…picked me up instead rather than go hunting for the right one.  Although my refrigerator comrades laughed nervously, I am certain they felt for me.

The motorcycle ride was interesting…and by interesting I mean terrifying.  It was not quite as plush as the SUV would have been, I imagine…but I got there mostly in one piece.  Then I was treated to petals full of some smoke that even Alice, the shop-girl, never had in front of us…and Alice smoked some cheap shit, believe me.

So Bertha carried me into the church only to find out that her betrothed motorcycle gang head of a fiancé had run off with one of her bridesmaids.  It would seem that the fucking leather dress was bought for naught.  Bertha dropped me at the altar and left mumbling something about Daniel’s nuts and a vice.

Mary, the bridesmaid that had not run off, picked me up and carried out to her car…

Which brings us to where I am now…sitting on the dashboard, watching Mary’s brunette hair pushed back so that her boyfriend Norm can watch her giving him head while he tweets to his buddies the pictures.  Her pink leather skirt is also lifted so that Joe, currently standing at the open door, can fuck her from behind as well.

I did not want to see this.  I wanted tiaras…beauty queens…and bons bons…

Not leather, lace and orgies.  Although, I must say, Mary looks good.  In my previous life, I would have loved to have been one of these guys.



    1. With this Saturday being International Towel Day, I actually wanted to thank you for the choice of prompt. This became something of a tribute to Douglas Adams’ bowel of petunias falling from the sky as it thought, “Oh no, not again…”


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