Dear Paperless Wads,

I have to say, the b-b-q's can be tuff.

Chicago yards equal tight spaces, I like tightness, but I also need a way out, if there's no way out, there's no way.

It was going well until the woman with the monosyllabic last name and the fat eyes was suddenly facing me, looking right through me like I was a television.

She's worse then the bald guy.

Just when I think I can handle it, I can't.

Cruel.

Unusual.

And,

I hate naked children.

Little boys with their shirts off make me want to die.

Ridiculous isn't it?

I'm supposed to be the one who prays, who for gives it all to something higher.

I don't know-

How to sit in the grass and eat a brat.

I don't know how to forget.

How to understand that it's something else entirely, clearly.

Clearly ten centuries ago in a pit of snakes.

I guess knowing is half the battle,

But, if you're the only one with a weapon,

It seems fruitless to fight,

Fruit,

Try the cantaloupe,

Next time.

That might sit better.

But, points for trying,

Half credit for bringing a present and a six pack to share.

Gold star for slipping out before you caused a scene,

A climax in the last act scene with ribbons and masks.

You have your friend boy,

Your three girls,

And your mentor.

That's rich.

You don't get lots and lots of teams of tribes.

That's not how it works.

So, know that.

That you don't ever have to be her friend and call her on her phone.

But, you can't hate her.

You can't cancel plans because of her.

You must exist together on the same planet, without violence, and able to aid in times of need.

Equality.

You like equality.

Over and out,

Skin and Toast