Don’t Poke The Bear!


Logan has told me, on many occasions, that I have three moods: Normal, Sarcastic, and Bitch.  Well, today he decided to see what it took to flip the switches.  It all started when I asked if he would brew a cup of tea for me while I was in the shower.  Not too much to ask of one’s brother, or so I thought.  Apparently he was in one of his “Poke The Bear” moods.

Whilst I was in the shower with soap all over and shampoo in full bubble, I heard the shower door open and then Logan said, “Here’s your tea. I used your hot shower water to save time.”  I managed to get one eye open and he had popped the cup of now soapy tea in the soap tray.  I was furious!  Yes, he had flipped my switch to FULL bitch mode!  Do NOT fuck with my tea!!!

I finished my shower without chewing the glass out of the door and stormed down the hall to give him a piece of my mind.  I lit into him like a fire to kindling only to see him give me a smirk.  I had had it!  I was just about to reach into his throat and pull his eyes out when he glanced behind me.  When I spun around, our garden neighbor had quite the stunned expression on his face.  It was in that instant I realized two things: 1. I was still wet from the shower and, 2. my bathrobe was still in the lav.  I stood there in horror with nothing between me and our neighbor except a piece of glass. Which would not have been so bad had I remained facing Logan with just my arse facing the neighbor, but when I turned around….nothing was hidden except whatever dignity I may have had at some time in the past.

I was still fuming as I walked to work.  Not even Mozart’s “Marriage of Figaro” was of any consolation.  Upon reaching the street where I work, I noticed a sign that explained that workers would be making some sort of repair at some point in the next century or two, depending on the length and frequency of their coffee breaks, and that all employees were to enter through another door.  I walked past one of the workers who thought he was being such a stud when he asked me if I liked taking the rear entrance.  I stopped, turned to him, got nose-to-nose with him, smiled, and said, “Oh, I like all sorts of things.  However, as you have chosen blurt out my secret, I can’t invite you in.  Perhaps one of your lads would be willing to step up and bend over for you.”  And I walked away, still fuming.

Logan telephoned to apologize and asked me if he could take me to lunch to make up for his asshole-ness.  I accepted and he came by to pick me up.  As we left, I heard a familiar voice make some comment, which I shan’t repeat, as to whether I preferred men or women.  Again, I turned, walked up nose to nose with him, and asked him to repeat himself.  Instead, he reached around and grasped by buttocks.  Remembering the training I had received from Sister Thomasina, this gentleman was extremely surprised when his face hit the pavement and his thumb broke.  Astonishingly, when the constable arrived, this wonderfully articulate workman expressed his deepest apologies for having tripped and fallen on the pavement in front of me and how grateful he was that I was there to “help him up.”  Trip to jail averted because he didn’t want to admit to anyone that a girl of 8.5 Stone had KICKED HIS ASS!

Logan stood there dumbfounded for quite some time, as did the workman’s associates.




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