Two Minutes at a Festival

He bent down, peering in, then stepped back quickly, overcome by the heat and the damp that clung to the air and to all the items in the tiny tent. The tiresome drizzle did not seem to have plans on cessation.

“Are you coming or what? God, your tent is a mess.”

“Hey! I didn’t ask you to bend in.” She yanked the flap of the two person tent up, zipping as she held on.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” He stuck his hand in the little space that still remained, “are you actually boxing yourself back in properly? Forget about the heat, we need to get going.”

She sighed, exasperated, “I. need. Two. Minutes.” She said it through gritted teeth.

“Would that be a girl two or a real two?” She snapped the zipper the remainder of the way, nearly slicing the skin on the heel of his hand. “Watch it!”

She made no reply. He knew he had hit a nerve. Ugh, one couldn’t joke about women around her anymore; she used to be so much more fun. She still was if he just kept his thoughts to himself. He tucked both hands into his parka and curved his back against the tiny droplets peppering his clothing. He wasn’t wet, not really, but he hadn’t been dry in days. It was beginning to take its toll.

A minute later, a zipper was making the rounds towards the muddy ground. She popped out. She had put on some sparkly lip gloss and a few shiny stickers on the side of her face. It was in complete contrast to the scowl she was wearing, “well? Shall we then?”

He smiled his roguish smile, “I know you don’t plan on us walking the entire way while you sulk.” She said nothing. He huffed, “I’m sorry, okay? Of course a girl minute is not an acceptable metric by any standards, but especially not in the patriarchal subsystem under which your highness and I exist.” He lowered his head in a mock bow; she swatted it. Then she skipped forward, sending flecks of mud to either side of her, “come on! I don’t want to be late for Kaytranada.”

Non classé Prose et Poesie