Five days. Five days of sleepless nights and irritating jibes from beyond the grave. Five days since she promised me she wouldn't slap me again. Five days since she walked out my door. Five days.
Four days ago, I broke down and went to the hell that is known as Wal-Mart.
Lit up so brightly I could've sworn the building's massive parking lot could've been used as an alternate landing area for O'Hare. I'm not one to linger in this particular store.
Always with some innate fear of having to pay for chainsaws, and marbles, and garden tools even though they're not in my cart. No, I definitely don't linger in Wal-Mart.
Three days ago, I finally took my purchase out of the blue plastic bag emblazoned with the annoying yellow smiley face. I tossed the bag into the air, allowing it to float lightly to the ground.
It had no more touched down, than there was a loud thump and thirty pounds of fur launched itself at the evil plastic invader.
I turned my purchase onto it's front, searching around me for the proper tool. After a quick detour to the kitchen, I came back to tackle the simple project well armed with a butter knife.
Prying little metal tabs away from the cardboard backing with the knife, I set both aside.
I slipped an image of a perfectly smiling someone off of the glass and tossed it in the near by waste basket.
I took the glossy picture from my desk and slipped it into the frame in place of the generic perfectly smiling someone.
Replacing the cardboard backing, I used the knife again to put the holding tabs back into place.
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