Feb
A good friend is someone who helps you out when you want to try new things with your blog. Peter DeWolf is a good friend. He wrote this little piece of fiction, which is, if memory serves, the first guest post on this blog! If you like it (which you totes should!) go ahead and click his name above to find more stuff by him!
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“Despite these instructions, I am doing a masterful job of assembling this vacuum,” he proclaims.
“Mmhmm,” she replies from behind a book, under covers, on the couch..
“It’s not just the quality of my work — which is, of course, very impressive — it is the speed. I know I have giant hands, but my fingers are nimble. Nimble.”
“Nimble. Sure,” she auto-pilots.
“When you chose me, did you know you were getting the entire package? I mean my rugged good looks were obvious.”
“Of course.”
“And I couldn’t keep my sharp intellect a secret for long.”
“Nope.”
“But the variety of talents and skills I bring to the party… Every day must be like Christmas morning for you.”
“Just like it. Every year I ask Santa for you playing Cheeky Bingo in your boxer shorts.”
“I feel like my talents are being wasted on such a small appliance. I need to work on something bigger. Maybe an entertainment centre. Or the International Space Station.”
“Sure.”
“All great artists require a challenge, you know? Something to test me. To make me– Hmm.”
“What?”
“This isn’t fitting together.”
“Not even with your nimble fingers?” she asks.
“No! This can’t be right,” he looks over his work so far.
“Need some help?”
“No no. I can do it. Let me look at those instructions again…”
“If the International Space Station people call, I should tell them you’re busy being bested by a vacuum then?” she asks.
“I think I’m missing a part. Maybe. It kind of looks like a Klingon Battle Cruiser.”
“Klingon Battle– I may have to leave you,” she says.
“Did I put it in the wrong place?”
“I bet I can finish it for you in thirty seconds,” she proclaims.
“I don’t need…” he replies, pouring over the instructions again.
“Are you chicken?”
“What?” He is paying attention now.
“Afraid I can do it in thirty seconds? Ten bucks.”
“You want to bet?” he asks.
“Ten bucks.”
“Ha. Ok. Fine. Thirty seconds. I am timing you.”
She yawns and stretches. She crawls out from under the blanket. She smiles at him. Then she bends over and pulls the missing part from under the couch. She puts in in place.
“Done,” she smirks.
“This is outrageous, madam!”
“Hee.”
“I am shocked. SHOCKED.”
“Sorrrrry.”
“I’m mad at you.”
“I can tell.”
“You don’t seem concerned.”
“I’m sorry, babe. What can I do to make up for it?” she asks.
“Nothing. It’s too late. I feel cheated. You’re like a different person to me now. It’s going to take a while for this wound to heal,” he replies.
“Wanna come watch me try on my new purchases from Victoria’s Secret?”
“I forgive you.”
“I thought you might,” she laughs, leaving the room.
“Did I mention my nimble fingers?,” he asks, chasing her.





