Terri Baldwin

“Chust a little farther.   Keep your shoes on.”

Peter whispered to me.   “Where does he get this stuff, anyway?   Isn’t it pants?   Aren’t we supposed to keep our pants on?”

“Maybe for Bodo shoes are more important.   Maybe it’s a German thing.”

“You know, Chermans can hear very good.   You are talking about me not very nice, I know it.”

“We were just talking about your creative colloquialisms,” said Peter.

I had no idea what that word meant, but it was fun to mess with Bodo, which is exactly what Peter was trying to do.  

“Is dat like a fucktart?”

“What?” asked Peter, half choking.

“Fucktart.   Dat’s a new word I learned today.   Isn’t it a good one?”

“I told you before, Bodo,” I said, “it’s not fucktart.   It’s fucktard.   And you were right before.   It’s not a nice word, so stop saying it.”

“I didn’t say fucktart.   Dat was you.   You are the lady saying all the fucktart words today.   Or moron.   She likes dat one, too.   I think it means boy I luff.”

“Wow.   You guys have one of the most messed up relationships I have ever seen,” said Peter, shaking his head.   “Seriously.   You fight to lighten the mood.   You call each other names …”

“And we take showers togedder sometimes. Don’t forget dat.”

“Shut up, Bodo!”

“You do?   Ew.   That’s a public shower, you know.”

“We do not take showers together.”

“Yesss weeee doooo … ”

“One time!   Okay?   One time.   And it’ll never happen again, I can promise you that.”

“I can promise you different!” said Bodo in a singsong voice.”
― Elle Casey, Warpaint

“Facing something down doesn’t mean you aren’t afraid of it,” I said dryly. “Usually quite the opposite.”
― Diana Gabaldon, Written in My Own Heart's Blood

“Jayne, do NOT wiz on the werewolves.”
― Elle Casey, The Changelings

“Maybe he used to like me, but I doubt he does anymore, now that I’ve insulted his bird fetish.”

Peter smiled.   “He’s not going to stop liking you over one little argument.   I don’t think he’s the type to just fall for someone and then hate them the next day.   We don’t live in that kind of world anymore, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”  

“Well, when there were thousands of possible mates to choose from, it was like being a huge candy store with a billion types of sugary things to choose from.   You could sample one of everything and not worry about whether you’d like it much or whatever, because there was always another jar of candy nearby.   But now, there’s no candy store.   There’s a single jawbreaker that you found in the gutter.   And there are no more jawbreaker factories.   No more candy stores.   No more refined sugar.   That one jawbreaker you found could be the only one you’ll ever have again.   You aren’t going to just eat it and say goodbye.”

His analogy wasn’t perfect but I saw where he was going with it.   “So I’m like a jawbreaker.   A dirty one you find in the gutter.”

“Yeah.   And he likes that candy.   It’s his favorite.   So he doesn’t care that it has smelly feet.”

I scowled at him.   “How do you know he likes jawbreakers so much?”

“I just know.   I can tell a good match when I see one.   He needs someone spunky and tough, someone different than other girls.   That’s you.”

I smiled, liking how Peter had described me.   “But what if he just decides to eat it real quick and then move on?   I mean, there are other jawbreakers out there.   They’re just more rare.”

“That’s not how he is.   He’s methodical.   A thinking person.   He’s not rash. And he knows his odds of finding a jawbreaker of this flavor?   Are pretty slim.”

“I’ve seen him do some stupid, rash things … like going after the candy at the Cracker Barrel.”

“That was all a very carefully-crafted way of making sure he had a good grip on his jawbreaker.   He wants to keep the candy happy.   Keep it sweet.”

I rolled my eyes.   “Ugh.   Your analogy is making me want to eye gouge you right now.”
― Elle Casey, Kahayatle