a midlife encounter...

That crazy chick Midlife showed up at my door in that ridiculous fur coat. I should have known something was up. Who in DAHELL wears a fur coat on an August night in Atlanta?!?!?!?!

Being the BGRITS (black girl raised in the south) that I am, full of southern hospitality, I graciously invited her in despite the late, late hour.

Her old rude ass immediately barged in asking me, "Where's the Hen-Dog?"

"Now, Middy, you know my ass don't drink. All I got in here is some water, Cokes, root beer and a bottle of wine some lame ass bought me for Valentines Day. Yes, lame because the fucker knows that I don't drink. How you gone bring a leftover bottle of no-name wineto a tee-totaler?"
Suddenly, I noticed that Middy has gotten awfully quiet.

I turned from the refrigerator and I was greeted with a sight that halted me midturn. The no-name bottle of wine slipped from my grasp breaking all over tile that is the color of faded mustard. The 16 ounce bottle of crystal geyser bounced and rolled under a chair.

This lunatic done pulled a gun out on me.

"Middy, sweetie, what's wrong? What did I do? What do you need? Here. Take everything I have. You can have my six dollar watch from Wal-mart, my life savings from my red plastic piggy bank and the flick collection that I keep under the secret compartment in my stereo rack. Take whatever you want. Just don't hurt me."

"Oh hell, girl. I didn't come for your shit. And I don't want to hurt you. I came for a new blog entry."

So, I'm sitting here wrapped in the infamous red blanket, cheap ass wine drying in the cracks of my kitchen tile, sleep crumbs still stuck in the corner of my eyes, contacts so dried out that I can't damn see straight with Middy's gun stuck in my side.

Fortunately, that damn fur coat has her ass so hot she is to the point of delirium and can't see straight to read what I'm typing.

So, I'm sending out a plea.

HELP ME!!!!!!
Somebody call 911!!!!!!!