Mighty Mighty Long Time
She was kind of a spoiled brat. She grew up rich, she dressed better than me, she was very pretty, and she was a bitch. She wanted things that I just couldn't afford to buy her, and when she dumped me to go out with Richie Hollandaise, the gooniest rich kid in town, it became pretty clear what her priorities were--and they weren't a man who is poor in money but rich in giant penis.
"We can't, really," I said.
Her face fell, and her lower lip quivered. Honey averted his eyes and toed the ground, his hands shoved in his pockets.
"Well call me sometime real soon!" she said, standing up.
"Yeah . . . I'll do that."
I moved to walk away, and she approached me with her arms open for a hug. As she leaned in, I grimaced. She smelled like a cat had thrown up on her, and she had then tried to overpower the accident with a bucket of lavender. I wretched a little and gently but firmly pushed her away. Then I turned around and continued to the restaurant. Hopefully they would have a washroom attendant to scrub this smell off me.
"That wasn't--" Honey began.
"That bitch," he said. "Why didn't you say anything? After the way she dumped you?"
I opened my mouth but I didn't really have an answer. I thought about it. Why hadn't I said anything? Then I realized--what would be the point? It'd be like kicking a one-legged dog who bit you when it was a puppy. Or punching out the bully who later turned into a quadrapelegic after breaking his back in a boogie-boarding accident.
"I guess sometimes people get what they deserve on their own. You know what they say--'Living well is the best revenge.' "
By the time we got to the restaurant, I was starving.
"What can I get for you sir?" the waiter asked.
Honey answered for me. "Get him the biggest, most expensive steak you have. Medium rare."
I nodded. "Sounds good."