Okay, let's try this 30-minute thing on for size. 484 words. PG rated maybe, though today's kids are less sensitive than their parents.
Inside Looking Out
Hey. Diary, it’s me again. Sorry to be so lame about checking in. Like it’s a month, right? ‘Bout since I mentioned I found my new man Jim.
Don’t get your hopes up that Jim is still hangin round. That bit is over. Just glad I don’t have to pay his hospital or chiro — well, you know how to spell better’n me.
He took me on a heavy date to the Chicken Inn complete w/ all the fixins and a whole bunch of beers. Hey, I didn’t think to count the empties cause we were laffing it up pretty heavy.
I didn’t mind that Jim took me out to the lake for a little getting to know you fooling around. Hmmm. Can’t tell you what happened next, but I have to say Jim drives one of those Smart cars. Not so smart really. They’re really, really small and Jim is sort of built big and makes me look like a midget.
I was looking up at his big blue eyes (yeah, I know it was dark, but I also know his eyes are blue.) I was also huffin and puffin cause like I said Jim is a BIG guy.
Suddenly he lets out a shriek that his back has gone out. “Gone out where?” I ask. “No,” he says, “I can’t move. It’s my slipped disc.”
“Well I can’t move either cause I’m under you. You have to move before I can get up and do something. Maybe slip your disc back or something.”
“Don’t you understand, you stupid person. I CAN’T MOVE!!!”
Seeing this was really, really an emergency I hit the horn again and again. Some guy from another car came to the window and said “Something wrong?”
“Call an ambulance you idiot!” Jim shouted. Not smart pissing off a Good Samaritan. That’s my Jim.
Before you know it there was EMS and the local cops and a fire truck not to mention some couples who just happened to be getting a moon tan at the lake. They spent 10 minutes laffing and then they hauled Jim out by using the Jaws of Life to cut the door open. Well I tried to cover my face and get my underwear on at the same time when some guy shouts “Nice try, Red.” Okay, so I used to have red hair — till I dyed it yesterday.
I followed the meat wagon to the hospital feeling this was not going to be the best date of my life. Told him “I’m sorry about your car. Maybe insurance will pay.”
“It’s not my car I’m worried about. It’s my wife’s car and there’ll be hell to pay when she finds out.
So Diary, if you know any nice guys, clue me in. But they have to have big cars. And not too big bodies. And no wives please. Now I have to find an aspirin and go lie down.