Ficlets

The Toast That Wasn't

As I watched him make the toast I wondered what I was doing here. I needed to just accept I didn’t like anything about the guy, well, except his sense of humour.

That’s not enough reason to be friends with someone though, not someone with this many shortcomings. His personality had more flaws than a forgery of a Rembrandt drawn by a drunk 6 year old with no thumbs.

He passed me the cup of tea, ok, that was another plus, he made really good tea. Still, you can’t just hang around with someone who makes you tea and makes you laugh. I’d settle for worse tea made by someone who wasn’t so petty and spiteful, someone who didn’t hold grudges better than most elephants.

He put the toast down in front of me, it looked good. I picked up the nearest slice and bit into it, eugh, it’s cold. That’s disgusting. I look up at him, he hasn’t taken his eyes off me, he knows it’s cold. He knows it’s cold! And he knows I’m too polite to complain, so I’ll eat both slices.

Why do I hang round with this guy?

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