Flash Saturday or why I need a licence to type in Flash Friday

“I met this woman from Maine.”

“Bang her?”

“No, Portland.”

“Was she cold?”

“I met her in June, in Jacksonville, a long way from Maine.”

“Nice.”

“She had this quirk.”

“Tourettes? Sociopathy? Washing her hands three times?”

“You’re projecting. She gave dogs as gifts. Birthdays, holidays, days she thought needed celebrating ….”

“What does that mean?”

“Dogs, four legged creatures, canines, furry, people use …”

“I’ve seen one. What does days that need celebrating mean?”

“Days she felt were neglected because they weren’t holidays or birthdays. I calmly pointed out that every day was someone’s birthday, just, perhaps, not someone she knew. She caressed me and called me an idiot.”

“Seems fair.”
“Yes, well.”

“So, where are the dogs?”

“Which dogs?”

“Did she not count you among those close enough to get canine gifts on holidays or neglected non holidays?”

“I don’t claim to understand how she or any woman counts, but yes, over the past six months I have received a beagle, a basset hound, two retrievers one was golden the other. I believe, dyed her hair, sure, golden, but she had lab roots, a pitbull and two huskies.”

“Hmmm, I … so where are they?”

“Re-gifted.”

“That must have been difficult.”

“How so?”

“Well a beautiful woman gives you a live warm furry gift you are flattered. You, however …”

“She was hardly beautiful. Sorry, is, she is, she might have lived in the past tense, but she doesn’t live there exclusively.”

“Still …”

“I regifted them to complete strangers.”

“Nobody is complete.”

“Quite so, but a regifted dog makes one one step closer.”