They were his secret pleasure, his dangerous joy, and he kept them buried deep where no one would ever look. The long, multicolored socks he would slip into in the loneliest hours when no one was likely to come knocking on his apartment door. Jason could relax, cook some Asian food, make himself a fancy drink, and forget about the world.
He was forgetting about the world when suddenly he smelled smoke. His dinner was on fire! He tossed his drink on the flames, but that just made things worse. He screamed and ran for the fire extinguisher. Soon everything was contained. Jason collapsed onto the couch, legs crossed, but he heard a key enter his lock. His neighbor Allison must have heard! There wasn’t enough time to sprint to the bedroom. He accepted his fate with grim determination.
Alison opened the door, spare key in hand, taking in the scene, one eyebrow cocked. Her eyes fell on a blushing Jason. “Don’t tell me,” she began. “I spy why you cried: a tie dye thigh high stir fry gone awry and worsened by a spilled Mai Tai. Why you’re tongue tied is that I’ve come by, and in your mind’s eye you’ll be decried as not a tough guy, which feels like a black eye. Well I won’t pry, let’s let this incident pass by. (Though tie dye’s out of fashion, by-the-bye.) Bye-bye!” And with that she left.
Jason vowed that the next time Alison came over he’d be wearing orange socks and eating nothing but oranges, just to make her squirm.
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#anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog
Brinens and Things 