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"I should've wore a damn mask. I'm bout to fall the hell out." I whispered to myself, as I was painting a mural on the wall in my art room.
I wouldn't be surprised if I was high as hell, from how strong the scent of this paint is.
"I need this. Baby, look at this." My husband Demar said, walking into the room, with his IPad.
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Climbing off my little ladder, I set my brush down, to see what he was talking about.
When I looked at the screen, it was a red and black Yamaha motorcycle.
"That's the nice, baby. Is there another bike show coming up?" I asked, cause I know he had a blast the first time he went, last year.
"Naw, but Imma be prepared for the one coming this year." He said, making me scrunch my face up.
"What you mean prepared?"
"Imma get the bike."
He must be high of paint fumes too.
"D, why the hell would you buy a motorcycle, and you can't even ride one? You don't even have a license for one." I said, walking out of the room to get some fresh air.
"I need the bike, so I can practice, and then imma get my license. Keep up baby."
"I don't think it's a good idea. You already can barely handle four tires, what makes you think, you gonna be a speed demon on two? Don't get that bike, Demar." I said, as I walked into the kitchen, to grab me a water out of the fridge.
"But, baby, I need it. Let me be great." He whined, wrapping his arms around me, while I drunk my water.
I already know I'm right about this, but those who don't hear, must feel.
"Fine, get the bike. Go right ahead, and get it." I said, walking out the kitchen.
He was screaming, running around excited, but I don't wanna hear shit, when he fuck up.
