I was walking home from the library today – it was closing time, and only the most dedicated (or desperate) aspiring academics were still there – when I had to step off the path to avoid getting run over by a cyclist. I found myself standing in the branches of a weeping willow.
Well, I know what weeping willows are for: you send a girl out with a knife, and make her fetch a few switches – one for now, and a couple more in case the first one breaks. Then you peel down her panties, and make her bend over the arm of the old sofa in the living-room, and you cover her bottom with even pink stripes. That’s what whipping willows are for.
I parted the hanging branches to look on the groud under the tree, and there I found a switch, just lying there, as though discarded by somebody who’d just stopped for a minute to deliver a quick whipping. I picked it up – the passing aspiring academics looked at me funny – and headed for the bus home.
“Hey,” I said to Abel when I walked into the house. “I brought you a stick to beat me with.” I held up the switch like a flower.
I think he liked it.
How thoughtful you are Haron… Lucky Abel. I’m going to start scouring the ground for the same sort of “flower” to present to my man
I think he’d like it too.
I like that story. Isn’t it amazing how pleased and almost flattered the guys are when you give them an instrument, willingly and enthusiastically?