rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


I bought too many tasty things at the store today, and now I've gone and stuffed myself. Most likely I'll feel crappy all night and wake up with indigestion tomorrow, but it was certainly enjoyable while I was eating it. It's a good thing I didn't thaw either of the frozen pies I bought. No matter how stuffed I am I doubt I'd be able to resist pie. One of them is key lime pie. I've actually never had key lime pie. I've been well aware of the fad, but just never got around to buying one.

That's partly because I have an ambiguous relationship with limes. Certain lime-flavored thins I've had have been among my favorites, but other lime-flavored things I've eaten have repelled me. Today the key lime pie was quite cheap, so a took the chance. If I don't like it I guess I'll just get a nephew to eat it. It's been my experience that nephews will eat just about anything. They're a lot like dogs, except for not getting fleas as often and not being flexible enough to lick their butts (I love my nephews but I do try to keep them off the couch.)

Stuffedness aside, I'm having a pleasant enough evening for someone who lives a region that is about to become uninhabitable due to perpetual drought. Were I a swimmer I'd surely have wanted to go swimming today, while water is still available for such indulgences. The air was like warm silk, and the sky as deep and as blue as Paul Newman's eyes. In short, I was totally gay for the weather, even though I know it intends to see me in Hell. I felt positively wicked enjoying such delicious mildness in February, despite knowing that this forbidden delight will not go unpunished. I don't care! I shall sin in haste and repent at leisure. And it isn't for the first time, after all. Forbidden fruit can be so tasty— like limes.

Oh, and the frogs sound so loud tonight it's almost as though they were right over the back fence, and not hundreds of feet away along their rapidly diminishing stream. I doubt that they have any idea that they are bound so soon to be dessicated— those who do not get eaten by whatever local wildlife eats frogs, that is. Poor frogs. Their season is so brief! I really admire the way that, as I presume from the sound of their song, they cram so much joy into it. I intend to go listen to more of it now, and bask in that cool, but still silky, night air.

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