Pointing Fingers

Summer  (girl in picture above - on the right - sans bunny ears) came to meet me for lunch today - and she brought her abnormally pale, long fingers along for the ride. Watching her eat shoestring fries was a little terrifying - I feared she would mistake her pinky for a deep fried potato piece.

Suddenly, with a bite of gooey cheese dribbling off the end of a fry - she looks at me - a deer in headlights. A tall blond passes our table.

"Iwenttoschoolwithher." She says in a soft one-breathed tone.

"Who - which one?" I asked while nochalantly biting into a burger the size of my head (and equally as appetizing - I might add - the burgers were sub-par, at best - not that my head is sub-par - but - um - oh - forget it - point is : the burger was too big and not very good!) and looking around the tiny burger joint decorated in faux fifties couture in search of "her."

"Youknowwhichonetheonethat'smissinghalfafinger."

"Oh. You're a sicko."

"Iknow." She went back to her burger after pausing to flip me off with one of those creepy fingers of hers.

Which was much more disturbing than someone with out a half a digit or two...

But not as disturbing as someone telling you, in graphic detail, about the size of a massive telephone pole-sized discount, bargain bin tampon and the trials and tribulations of aforementioned feminie product.

You know who you are...