|Male cashier with multiple tattoos (two of them are colored in with rainbow):||How are you this evening?|
|Me:||Pretty good. Starving, obviously. How are you?|
|Cashier:||Not bad. I can't wait to get off my shift and get home to my boyfriend.|
|Woman behind me:||Wait, you're gay?|
|Cashier:||Yeah. . . ?|
|Woman:||That's a shame.|
|Woman:||He seemed like such a wonderful man, it's a shame he's gay.|
|Cashier:||Why is it a shame?|
|Woman:||It's wrong! It's immoral, it's dis-|
|Me:||Excuse me, but what's it to you if he's gay?|
|Me:||But how does it affect you?|
|Me:||Where exactly does it start to make sense that it affects you? A relationship is between 2 people, not 3.|
|Woman:||*sputters a bit, then leaves without her food*|
|Cashier:||. . . Wow, thank you.|
|Me:||Ignorant people are the reason I claim to be allergic to the human race.|
|Me:||Hi Tom can you sign this for me?|
|Hiddles:||of course.....what is it?|
|me:||oh just a marriage certificate..|
|Me:||I mean its a piece of paper...just a piece of paper Tom|
every time i lose a follower i assume they found a picture of my face
Child of the pure unclouded brow
And dreaming eyes of wonder!
Though time be fleet, and I and thou
Are half a life asunder,
Thy loving smile will surely hail
The love-gift of a fairy-tale.
I have not seen thy sunny face,
Nor heard thy silver laughter:
No thought of me shall find a place
In thy young life’s hereafter—
Enough that now thou wilt not fail
To listen to my fairy-tale,
A tale begun in other days,
When summer suns were glowing—
A simple chime, that served to time
The rhythm of our rowing—
Whose echoes live in memory yet,
Though envious years would say ‘forget.’
Come, hearken then, ere voice of
With bitter tidings laden,
Shall summon to unwelcome bed
A melancholy maiden!
We are but older children, dear,
Who fret to find out bedtime near.
Without, the frost, the blinding
The storm-wind’s moody madness—
Within, the fireflight’s ruddy glow,
And childhood’s nest of gladness.
The magic word’s shall hold thee
Thou shalt not heed the raving
And, though the shadow of a sigh,
May tremble through the story,
For ‘happy summer days’ gone by,
And vanish’d summer glory—.
It shall not touch, with breath of
The pleasance of our fairy-tale.