Page 80 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
“I’ve coddled you enough over the years.”
“Yeah, maybe that’s why I’m so sensitive.”
Cole shakes his head. “No, you were sensitive when I first received you.”
“Received me, huh?” Atlas asks with a smile written all over his face as he takes a sip of his drink. “And how did you enjoy...receivingme?” The question is full of innuendo and makes me chuckle.
“What is wrong with you?”
“I ask myself that in the mirror every day.”
Max
“Okay, I never thought Christmas nachos were a thing, but oh my God, they’re a thing,” Betty says as she takes another chip from the big platter we ordered to share.
High-top tables have been set up all around Ornament Park with the intention that people spend their money at the vendors and then take a walk down Lovers’ Lane. So far, we’re spending money.
We’re on our second cup of mulled cider, we’re devouring nachos, and honestly, I’m having a great time. Storee is leading the conversation like she said she would, so I wouldn’t have to think of stupid things to say to fill the awkward silence, and it’s all running very smoothly. I’m adding little anecdotes here and there, coming off as a great person to be around. Cole seems to be enjoying himself, and Betty has laughed quite a few times.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s having a good time.
“They’re more like Thanksgiving nachos if you ask me,” Storee says. “But they work.”
“The sausage and stuffing and cranberry make it more like Thanksgiving, but the wreath shape, that screams Christmas,” Betty says, sounding more... loose than normal.
I don’t blame her though; the mulled cider is strong. I’m feeling a little loose too.
“I like the sausage,” Cole says. “Not too spicy.”
“No one likes a spicy sausage,” I say with a smirk.
“In fact, they don’t.” Storee chuckles. “I mean, I certainly don’t. What about you, Betty? Do you like a spicy sausage in your mouth?”
Betty picks up another chip and shakes her head. “I don’t. I once had a spicy sausage in my mouth that made me gag.”
The table pauses, all staring at her, wondering whether that was an innuendo or not.
When she looks up, seeing all of us staring at her, she clamps her hand over her mouth and then chuckles. “I mean like anactual sausage, not like, you know... a penis sausage. Not that I’d ever call a penis a sausage. I haven’t seen any in real life that really resemble the kind of sausages I’ve seen, in the girth department at least, but you didn’t ask that, so I don’t know why I’m saying it.” She looks away and sips her drink.
“I’m sorry that you gagged on a sausage,” I say, trying to make her feel less awkward.
“It was really big. Hard to get my mouth around.”
“I understand that completely,” I say. “I’ve had a hard time getting my mouth around some sausages as well.”
She looks up at me, confused.
“Uh, like actual sausages, not... the penis variety, just want to keep that clear. Just talking about food, because if we weren’t, then I’d have to say I prefer tacos, if you get my drift. Yup, a taco guy over here, and you’re a, uh, a sausage girl?”
“Yes, purely sausage, although I once kissed a taco.”
“Really?” I ask, feeling Cole and Storee watching us.
Betty’s eyes widen. “I mean, ugh, not liketaco vaginaor the foodtaco, I meanttacoas referring to a woman. Like a woman can have a taco, and a man can have a sausage or vice versa or whatever part you want. Ugh, I shouldn’t assign genders to food... To clear things up, I’ve kissed a woman before. It was a dare in college.”
“What is happening?” I hear Cole mutter.
“Magic,” Storee says, clasping her hands together.
