story time

Not all stories have a point.

So... picture with me: Salsa day.... going on hour 13... well, 14.
(I know I said it was only a 10 hour day, but I did start at 7:30am, and the last person left at 10pmsomething.)

I'm in the house, Jen and I are doing something? Cleaning maybe? I don't know.
I've turned away because I've just discovered a large scratch on my stomach ... so of course, I'm poking at it trying to figure out where it's come from... when from my front window- which is of course where I'm picking at dried blood on my stomach- I hear "Hey! Lesley!... It's Lesley's house, hey, can we come in?" I'm confused... but it sounds like Steve's voice (my once-upon-a-time-pretend-fiance) so I tell him to come to the back door... (reminder: all that crap from the festival has filled the porch).

Steve and a gaggle of handsome teenaged boys are in the middle of a game.. a game where they are trying to "trade up". Think Red Paper Clip. They need something "bigger or better"... Somehow, they went from a broken pencil to a love seat .. in one trade... and they needed something.. someone... to rescue them from their terrible prize.

I have NO need for a love seat. Dearly... I have too much furniture as it is! But I wanted to play the game too! Mostly... I wanted to give them the Xbox and the Ipod, or some worms... but.
I just couldn't do it.

I sent them on their way.

And they came back half an hour later with some tupperwear and a gravy boat....
Desperate for the Xbox.
So I gave them my tent.

The end.