Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 51122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
“Coloring what?” he asked, face closer.
“Coloring a coloring page in an author’s reader group that I follow,” I answered, concentrating hard.
“What does that say?” he picked up the orange.
“It says ‘Covid-19 is a C*nt,” I showed him the page.
His lips twitched.
“What’s it even matter to you?” he asked. “You literally go like four places. Our house. The corner store to get Snickers bars, your dad’s place, and my office.”
I looked over at him with a sneer.
“It bothers me because now that I can’t, I want to,” I said. “I just really fuckin’ want to go eat chips and queso.”
He threw an arm around my shoulders and tugged me to him.
“Hopefully it won’t be much longer,” he said as he heard our kids start screaming from the other room. “Not it.”
I punched him in the nipple and got up, walking to the room where my daughter had apparently decided it was open season on her little brother.
“Hey,” I said as I walked into the room. “Knock it off.”
My daughter, so much like me, gave me the middle finger.
“Hey! If you keep that up, I’m gonna tell Grandpa!” I pointed my finger, though not the one she’d pointed at me, back at her.
She gave me a roll of her eyes and went back to tossing her blocks at her baby brother.
I picked her up and carried her to her father, dropping her into Rafe’s lap, and walked away. “Deal with that while I go to the bathroom.”
When I got back from the bathroom it was to find my daughter not only being really quiet, but Rafe being quiet as well.
When I got a good look at why they were being quiet, I started to laugh.
“She colored the word ‘C*nt,’” he told me. “You should send this to your dad. He’ll love it.”
He was right. My dad did love it. Who did not love it was my stepmother, Shiloh.
Shiloh: I will murder you when I get to see you again.
Me: You won’t. You know you love me.
Shiloh: If that baby starts saying that word, I’ll beat you.
Me: Child abuse is frowned upon. Don’t make me tell my daddy on you.
Shiloh: Your dad likes my abilities too much to ever side with you about this.
Me: lalalaalalalala. I can’t hear you.
Shiloh: **Laughing Emojis**
Me: You’re so not funny. The next time I see you, you’re dead to me.
Shiloh: I’ll just bring you a Snickers bar. Problem solved.
“Your stepmother knows you as well as I do.” Rafe shook his head. “And she’s right. You could be mad as hades, and all it would take is a Snickers to calm you down.”
The sad thing is, they were right.
I was easy.
Book: Kinda Don’t Care
CHAPTER 10
Is fucktastrophy a word? Because I feel like it would be used.
-Dixie’s secret thoughts
DIXIE
“Listen, old man.”
I turned to look at my grandson.
“Bayou, swear to Christ, if you don’t get the hell away from me, I’m going to light you up with this.” I pointed the weapon at his face.
It was a branding iron, and I was branding the leather I planned to make into a seat for my new bike.
“You could try,” Bayou jeered.
Hoax, my other grandass, chuckled from where he was sitting on his bike drinking a beer.
“I’m an adult male,” I told them both. “If I want to go to Walmart, then I go to Walmart. Y’all can’t stop me.”
“We can stop you,” Hoax disagreed. “And, sorry to say, but you’re not a spring chicken anymore. You’re well into your eighties.”
I was, which was beside the point.
“I already told you I had this back in November,” I told them both. “Remember when I had to carry an oxygen tank around with me for two weeks?”
That’d been bad. For the first time in a long time, I thought I really was going to die.
I’d had to go to the hospital and everything.
Though, I hadn’t stayed. They’d wanted me to, but the last time I’d stayed overnight in a hospital was when my wife had died, and that brought back debilitating memories.
“Whether you had it or not, it’s better to be on the safe side.” Bayou crossed his arms over his chest, planting his feet as if he was waiting for a fight.
“I’m out of stuff,” I said. “I have to go.”
“What are you out of?” Bayou asked. “Phoebe already said she’d go to the store for you. She’s exposed to this crap all day long thanks to being in healthcare. She doesn’t mind going.”
“I don’t care if she minds going or not,” I disagreed. “I’m going, and that’s final.”
“Are you embarrassed by what you need?” Hoax asked then. “I mean, if it’s something personal, just tell me. I’ll go.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I don’t care if you know that I need hemorrhoid cream,” I told him bluntly. “I also don’t care if you know that I sometimes piss my pants because I have bladder incontinence now. What I do care about is the fact that you’re trying to steal my freedom from me.” I looked them both in the eyes. “I’m going. If my time is up, my time is up. I don’t freakin’ care anymore.”