“Hey, bitch, get your hands off of my pizza,” Jason yelled.
“But you said we could share,” Anita said, letting go of the slice she picked up.
“No I didn’t,” Jason corrected Anita. “I said if you ordered a pizza we could share each other’s pizzas. But you chose to order rabbit food instead. You know I don’t eat salads. So you go ahead and enjoy your salad and keep your grubby paws off my pizza.”
“Just give my salad a try, Jason,” Anita said. “It’s really quite tasty and, best of all, it’s healthy. It’s actually good for you.”
“I’ll tell you what, Anita,” Jason said. “If you want to have some of my pizza, go ahead and pull off those green, leaf-like things. I don’t know what they are. Maybe spinach or arugula or some other type of rabbit food. I don’t like that shit. But as to the rest of my pizza, that’s off limits to you.”
“You are one selfish bastard, Jason,” Anita said.
“Yeah, well you knew that when you opted for a salad instead of a pizza. You made your bed, now you gotta sleep in it.”
“I’m not sure that particular metaphor applies here,” Anita said, “but fine, you can eat the whole damn pizza by yourself. But you’re getting to the age that you should consider adding more greens to your diet.”
“Maybe in my next life,” Jason said, picking up a slice of his pizza and taking a big bite.
Written for the Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner prompt from Roger Shipp. Photo credit: Christian Mackie on Unsplash.