TUCKER MUST DIE

Tucker rambles on about the escapades of his frat-like roommates. With names like Beaver and Rod—no further descriptions are needed. I bury my face in a menu, the waiter brings Sapporo just in time.

Something legal and blonde catches Tucker’s eye. It’s his college sweetheart, with a toddler in tow. The fact that he still has her photo on the fridge bugs me no end. He pounces like a puppy that hasn’t seen his owner in a while. Seriously, if he had a tail, it’d be wagging like crazy.

 “This is my buddy,” He says while patting my shoulder. He may as well be patting my shaggy brown head.

She flashes a Mona Lisa Smile. My face turns every shade of apple envy.

Legal Blonde bounces when the sushi comes. Tucker gushes, “Isn’t she great!”

I just about hiss, “So, now I’m your buddy!?”

“Oh, come on,” he says, between chugs of beer, “you know this is a lot like love, but I want sparks! Fireworks! That’s why I’m holding out for Little Miss Perfect.”

My eyebrows arc and freeze. The crispy rice slips from my chopsticks and hits the table with a splat.

His lips are movin’, but I don’t hear another word. I just stare at him all pink button-down shirt with a splash of soy and think—pink?

For Christ’s sake, what guy wears pink? And what about; baby, you’re a firework? It’s not my fault his colors burst like way too fast. He does take time to smell the pot buds, though, and he does roll the perfect joint. Otherwise, he wouldn’t know perfect if it bit him in the ass. Legal Blonde’s ass looks as perfect as it gets, but it’s obvious she knew his defects and traded him in for a newer model. His friends say I look like a model, the exotic type you don’t bring home to mother. Fucker! Do I need a perfect house to fall on my Little Miss Imperfect head?

My eyes wander up to his premature receding hairline. Clearly, the Propecia’s not working. I can taste the wasabi on my tongue.

Tucker’s waving his hand in the air like he just don’t care, “Helloooo…? Earth to Buddy…?

Earth to Buddy!!??

I stand, like a girl interrupted, tempted to toss my Sapporo in his clueless face. I go Atomic Blonde instead.



Karen Crawford grew up in the vibrant neighborhood of East Harlem in New York City. She currently lives in the City of Angels where she exorcises demons one word at a time. Twitter: @ KarenCrawford_

Categories: Fiction

Daily Drunk

Shawn Berman runs The Daily Drunk. You can follow him on Twitter @Sbb_writer.

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