Break All Ties

Sloshed is a funny word. It's like—sloshed. Like if you're sloshed, the word sloshed looks like sloshed. It's the same as clumsy. The word itself looks so clumsy. Like a load of letters that have just been thrown together.

Don't even get me started on the word mafia. If you say it quickly, it kind of sounds like 'my fear'. Ironic, right?

Holy matrimony. I do. I love you. I hate you. I need you.

Whatever. They were all words. They were all made up and all pointless.

Aren't words funny?

They're like hay. They get all over the place.

In the middle of the night, Ida- who might as well just be my new best friend- and I stumbled into a French costume shop. We got along like a house on fire. Probably because we both had a piece of shit life.

So, we entered the costume shop. Fuck knows why it was still open, but it was.

Our farm was the same. It didn't matter if it was one or two or three or four in the morning- we sold chicken eggs.

Our tequila bottle was gone now. I couldn't remember if we'd finished it or not. All I knew was that it wasn't with us. It had died. Someone had sent it to glass heaven.

We sent it down with a nice funeral. Ida told me about her life then I told her some about mine. I thought we cried. Maybe it was rain. The world was too foggy for any facts.

He was probably with the prostitutes at this very minute, realising that I was no catch. Realising I was annoying and whiny and pathetic.

Why did I even bother anymore? Why did we even bother? We were so evidently built to fail.

The man behind the counter glanced up when he saw us coming and sighed, as if we weren't supposed to be in here.

He was the scarecrow of the costume shop, keeping the crows off the seeds.

"Nous sommes fermés."

Ida giggled as I coughed. "I would like to buy a dress."

The shopkeeper frowned. "English?"

"Yep."

In our tongue, he tried again. "We're closed now. Read the sign and get out. Stupid bitches."

I turned to the door. He was right. Though it blurred, there was a closed sign in multiple different languages.

But it was a pity. I really wanted to buy a dress. My jeans and ninja turtles shirts were riddled with holes. This here tight sack I wore was too small. You can't muck the stables in a short dress.

"Please," I begged, pouting. "Five minutes be us. Swear it do I."

Alcohol had never mixed well with me.

It was then that the lovely, kind shopkeeper looked at us. Like, really looked at us.

In our short dresses, there really wasn't much left to the imagination. Ida looked like she'd just stepped off the front cover of a magazine with her tan skin and dark, flowing hair. I suppose I didn't look too bad either. I was blonde. That was always the first thing Assante's men noticed.

Tonight, Ida and I had the same eyes, even if they were different colours. They were bloodshot and weepy, buzzed by what we'd been drinking.

Oh- more importantly, we had boobs. Boobs! The very things that seem to make the world go round.

"On second thoughts," The man said. "You ladies can have your pick of the costumes—for free."

But there was a catch. I was too drunk to catch that catch. It was caught when his hand shot out across the counter to milk the udders.