Needy Greedy Love (Part 13)

Primal attraction burned in him and shot through her like a bolt gun used to kill cows and pigs in slaughterhouses, which is so inhumane. Say you're a cow waiting your turn to die. Humans have raised and fattened you since birth. You even kind of like them when they brush you, though they always miss brushing the spot that annoys you the most. You're even smiling while you're waiting, chewing your cud like bubble gum and wishing you could blow a big pink bubble like that freckled kid who gives you rotten apples that make your two stomachs hurt. You think that your bovine friends ahead of you are falling asleep and hitting the floor unusually fast, but you don't sweat it because you're a cow with several brain cells and think humans are really cool because they feed you all the time and let you wander all over creation eating food that gives you major gas that will one day destroy the ozone layer. You finally get to the front of the line. It's your turn. You're excited because you finally get the chance to get some much-needed sleep. I mean, it's no barbecue picnic filling two stomachs every day and flatulating enough gas to fuel several large power plants in Rhode Island. You smile at the man with the bloody, gloved hand. He puts a cold piece of metal to your temple, and it feels so nice since that's the place they always forget to brush then BAMMO! Down you go, your cud ejected into the darkness, a huge pink blood bubble spewing from your lips, your tongue preceding your head to the floor with a THWACK! It's the last sound your furry, tagged ears will ever hear.

"Oh, Cat, my darling!" Gunn mooed.

"That's not my name," Thais uttered. "I am offended. I am affronted, insulted, outraged, piqued, stung, injured, wounded, cut, disobliged, lacerated, and quite not happy. At all. And I mean it." She stamped her foot and partially threw out a hip. "You have tread on my toes, stomped on my feet, kicked me in the shins, and given my heart a Charley horse. I feel like a freshly killed, too-trusting cow who only wanted to blow a big, stupid pink bubble. I am no longer full of romantic feelings. Goodbye."

"Wait."

Thais waited.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"We need to talk."

"Isn't that what we're doing?"

"Let me pee first," Thais said, peeved. "I've had to pee for the last two pages."

After peeing, Thais spun on her heels and almost fell to the floor. Thais had sexy heels, tan heels worn smooth by the tan sands on the tan beaches and green soccer fields of her native Brazil. She had come to the United States after being named Miss Brazil as a teenager and scoring the winning goal against Uruguay in the World Cup, fell in love with American cuisine and all its trans fat, because a naturalized citizen, lied her way into the University of Virginia, graduated with a degree in political science, posed for a "Got milk?" ad, and became a low-paid cop.

Thais threaded her way through a virtual minefield of Cat's bric-a-brac littering the living room. She punted the robotic vacuum cleaner into the hallway as she eyed the Hummel figurines festering on bookshelves and on the fireplace mantel. She hated the sight of another woman's stuff still taking up her man's space, so she smashed all the Hummels with her furious tan fists of Brazilian fury, gleefully grinding a defenseless angel into angel dust with her smooth, sexy, tan Brazilian heel.

"What in blue blazes are you doing?" Gunn blazed, feeling blue.

"I'm erasing your past, Gunn," Thais said, her heart racing. "You cannot live in the past, Gunn. It's so wrong to do that, Gunn. You shouldn't do it, Gunn. It's a waste of time, Gunn. You need to live for now, Gunn. The past is past, Gunn. The future is now, Gunn. Live for the moment, Gunn. Live for now, Gunn. The past is passe, Gunn. the present is a present, Gunn."

She crushed a defenseless kitten Hummel. 'The present is a gift you open every day of your life, and sometimes the box is empty and you get really crabby about it and break stuff and jump down the throats of people who love you just because you can. Sometimes it contains Lycra bicycle shorts, and though they're usually more expensive, they never come back from the laundry the same. Sometimes you can't remove the wrapping paper from your life's box without tearing it, and it flusterates you even though you know you'd never actually use the wrapping paper again on another present, I mean, who the heck is so freaking cheap that they would do that kind of thing? Sometimes you can't get the tape off the box at all, so you stay in bed all day watching infomercials and Home Shopping Network and eating leftover sushi washed down by milk that's way out of date and rattles like marbles in the carton. The future is a huge group of presents all piled under a huge Christmas tree called life, only you don't have to water the tree to keep the needles from spilling all over your carpet, and they have yet to make an affordable American-made vacuum cleaner that can suck up every one of those needles. You have to bend down and use your fingers sometimes, and your fingertips get all piney and sappy. So, live for now, Gunn, or your life will be all sappy."

"But those Hummels belonged to my mother!" Gunn hummed maternally under his breath. "Other than her eyes, hair color, basic facial bone structure, her stringy nose hairs, half of my DNA, my decadent and daring sense of fashion, and my insatiable desire for hot pickles, those figurines were all I had left of her! I know you are coarse, sexy, and wise, but don't take every memory I have of my mother away from me!"

"This is good therapy," Thais said therapeutically. She picked up a large gray vase with a lid on top. "It's for your own good." She threw the vase into the fireplace, a plume of gray powder filling the room. "You need to dust more often," she said dustily.

"No I don't!" Gunn cried. "That ... was ... my ... mother!"

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