late night conversations about dreaming

Posted: November 24, 2010 in hidden admonishment
Tags: , , ,

“I hate grown women that drink hot chocolate.”

“But I like chocolate,” I muttered to the steaming liquid as I stirred. Clinking the spoon lightly on the lip of my mug, I continued to try to defend my poorly formed life choices, “and I’m not that fond of tea.”

“Coffee.” He paused. “Whiskey.”

“I used to drink coffee.” I sipped my hot chocolate and peered up through shaggy bangs. I could see that he thought I drank some form of “coffee” that went by an elaborately complicated, sugar-coated name. “I drank black coffee,” I said in a meek objection to this harsh judgment hammering down against me. “I believe Aztecs drank cocoa,” and I peered into my cup a little sad, “although, they drank it bitter…much like coffee.”

I was rambling.

“Little kids drink hot chocolate that their mommy’s make them when they come inside from building snow forts.”

I sat down across from him. It’s not winter here, and I drank hot chocolate in the hottest summer days. “Listen, asshole. I didn’t invite you here to tell me how juvenile my desires are. I want this job. I’ll make it work. I’ve put myself through it before. I have reasons. I have goals. I didn’t fucking invite you here at all. I drink hot chocolate, because it’s the only form of chocolate I can currently afford, and yes goddamn it. Chocolate comforts me as if I were a little kid. I’m fucking tired of “working” as a “woman” for the fantasies of you pigs.”

I was rambling again…very unlike me.

His flat facial expression met my outburst without wavering. I stared at the dark waves of cocoa sediment kicked up to the surface by the tip of my cup and calmed down. I was needlessly defending my decision not to go out tonight. When I finished, at some length, and set the empty shell down, I was glad he’d come. When I looked up, I had only the wall to ask, “So…you hate me now?”


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