Spicy Little Curses

by J.T. Geissinger

Unfortunately, I’m a sucker for the tall, dark, and devilish type. The more red flags and pitchforks they’re waving, the better.

“You don’t know me, but I’m as stubborn as a drunk goat on a narrow bridge.” I made a face at her. “That’s the dumbest metaphor I’ve ever heard.” She pursed her lips and considered it. “How about this? I’m as stubborn as if a drunk goat and a brick wall had a baby.” “What’s with the drunk goats? You spend a lot of time around alcoholic farm animals?” She laughed again. “I mean, if you knew my boss, you’d get it.”

This is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me. Which is saying something, considering I once accidentally joined a cult because they had really good tacos.”

“I’m obsessed with tacos. My therapist says it’s not really about tacos, it’s about unresolved childhood trauma and the tacos are just like a placeholder or something, a stand-in for my real emotional issues, which I think is just silly because anyone who’s ever had good carnitas will tell you that they’re the opposite of traumatic, they’re basically heaven on a plate, but she’s the one with all the expensive degrees.

But I’m not the killing type. Unless you’re talking about the ungodly amount of carnitas platters I’ve murdered in my lifetime, because if we’re counting those, I’m a serial killer.”