Page 26 of Someone Save My Midlife Tonight
“I thought all her money went into Botox and boobs,” I said, yawning. Listening to weather facts was not invigorating. I was tempted to remind Shitty Ritchie and Tim that the weather discussion was supposed to happen with Rafe, Gabe, Abby and Pure, but decided against it. A peacefulconversation was preferable to Shitty Ritchie losing his mind over something.
Tim chuckled. He and Jennifer were our go-to folks for bizarre and usually unappetizing facts. I was beginning to think that Shitty Ritchie might be their perfect third.
“Speaking of Florida,” Shitty Ritchie announced, clasping his tiny hands together with glee. “Did you know that you are technically required to pay for parking if you tie your elephant to the meter?”
Tim actually squealed with the new news. I groaned. Shitty Ritchie was on a roll.
“Oh yes! Back in the day, I was once given a parking ticket for my elephant, Frank. It was ridiculous. I had simply hopped off to scoop his poop. I wasn’t parked at all.”
The mental image of an eight-inch-tall man scooping elephant poop was almost too much to handle.
“My goodness,” Tim said. “Whatever did you do?”
“I ate the parking meter attendant,” Shitty Ritchie shared.
Welp, that caused a pained pause in the conversation.
The tiny cannibal kept going, not realizing that Tim and I were turning green. “It’s also illegal in Florida to sing in public while wearing a bathing suit. I know this because I received a citation for the issue.”
I couldn’t stop the words. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. “Please tell me you didn’t eat the officer.”
“Okay,” Shitty Ritchie said with a giggle. “I won’t tell you.”
Tim gagged then covered it with a coughing fit.
Pressing the bridge of my nose, I debated on how to handle this new and terrible info about our guest. I was mentally kicking myself in the bahookey that I hadn’t made him leave earlier. Hosting a miniature tornado who ate police officers, and God only knew who else, was not good.
The conundrum was that Charlie was sure he could help us. There was always a chance that Charlie was wrong. Highly unlikely, but possible. It made me sick to my stomach and infuriated me that Shitty Ritchie talked so casually about eating innocent humans. It was beyond unacceptable. Candy Vargo had the wherewithal to be mortified that she’d eaten my siblings. The other difference in the scenarios was that my brothers and sisters were Immortal and somehow survived. The logistics of that made me want to hurl, but Shitty Ritchie’s offenses were far worse.
The tiny turd was oblivious to Tim’s and my discomfort and kept regaling us with farked up Florida laws.
“Unmarried women are forbidden from parachuting on Sundays,” he informed us.
I was pretty sure that law gave him no reason to eat anyone. He wasn’t female and I was positive he was single. Sadly, I was incorrect.
“Yes, yes,” he lamented in his high-pitched and squeaky voice. “I had a friend once. Myra. Lovely human. Made a tasty meatloaf. She received a citation for parachuting on a Sunday by a rotund officer of the law named Stew. It was awful, considering that poor Myra’s parachute never opened and she died on impact. Very messy business. I was obviously furious that Officer Stew could be so callous, so I avenged the tragic death of Myra by ingesting Officer Stew.” He paused in deep thought. “It was unfortunate he didn’t actually taste like stew.”
“DUDE,” I yelled, completely over it. If Shitty Ritchie got his panties in a knot and tried to eat me, he was going down. Permanently. “You can’t go around eating freaking humans because they pissed you off. It’s wrong.”
Shitty Ritchie was wildly confused. “Why?”
I stood up and threw my hands in theair. “Because they were just doing their jobs. They might have had families and children. Eating people is against every law on the books in Florida and the rest of the world.”
Tim raised his hand. I squinted at him. Whatever he was about to say I was sure I didn’t want to hear it.
“I believe that cannibalism is only technically illegal in Idaho,” he reminded me.
I’d been correct. I didn’t want to hear it.
“You cannot eat people. Period,” I snapped, glaring at Shitty Ritchie. “That’s common knowledge and common decency. Where in the hell do you even live? In a cave? How can you not know right from wrong?”
Shitty Ritchie’s eyes filled with tears. “I do live in a cave,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t eaten anyone in decades. I didn’t know. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The waterworks were on full display. His on-demand excuse for everything he didn’t want to deal with wasn’t cutting it.
“Save it,” I ground out. “Crying isn’t going to move me. Do you have any friends?”
“No,” he replied, sniffling.
