Sugar McKenzie and August Wakefield couldn't be more different - Sugar, a meticulous, caring, but lonely paramedic and August, a charming former reality star still chasing his dream. But they've both closed themselves off emotionally from others...t...
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To shave. Or not to shave.
It was a dreaded dilemma especially during winter time. There were multiple consequences. One would be social construct that if a person didn't participate in the act of shaving then that person would experience words or facial expressions like: what and what's wrong with you? Second would be half of the person's warmth would be gone. Hair was there for a reason - to provide warmth, to protect from outside bacteria, and natural production of cells.
Wait - I had a solution!
I wore kitty-paw print night pants and a ketchup stained hoodie. The rusty color stain stood out against the tan color hoodie, right in the middle of the material. My leg hairs prickled through my cotton pajama pants. I held my dinner, a bowl of cereal and a small plate of Snickerdoodles, while I binge watched BBC Sherlock for the third time this month. Next on the list to accomplish, How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days. Netflix was a second heaven. A pure blissful distraction.
There wasn't that much to do with the night drawing in. Six o'clock appeared to experience the same sensation with darkness similar to midnight. A person could only accomplish so much during those ungodly hours.
I made a mental checklist to complete.
I called Papa earlier.
It was shortly after I arrived home from the hospital. Oh, gosh. I would never see that man – no he wasn't even a man – thing ever again. If he was serious about those hospital bills, I wasn't paying a penny. He had to suffer the outcome. My guilt melted away when I called an ambulance. I did all that I could do to help with the situation. Pointing my fingers to get the lady with her smart phone in hand to call them, I ran to retrieve the napkins on the condiments counter and then I yelled at the barista for ice. Nothing more.
When I called Papa, he answered the phone. Always in the same way.
"McKenzie residence. What do you want?" his grumble voice answered.
"Papa, your phone has caller ID," I chuckled, "You know that it's me."
"You know that I can't see anything. The font is too small!" I heard shuffling occur on the other side of the phone call.
I shook my head. "Excuses. Excuses."
There was a short deep fuss, and then he said, "Yeah, well, it's the truth."
His usual chirper tone droned down to a baritone voice. This was one of the hardest times of the year. Like retrieving milk and bread from the grocery store, I called and made arrangements. I wrote a list, two different categories of short or long goal.
"Want to go see Mama?" I asked. I switched the phone to press against my left ear as I walked into my apartment. I closed the door behind me. The automatic lock clicked.
