“Don’t Be a Baby”
Last I heard, you were in jail.- chew it a little if needed
- know that you are very rude and are also now my enemy
- throw the glove in her face
- You got guts, kid.
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“Don’t be a baby,” Tessa cajoled. “You can take it. You got guts, kid.”
“What I have, Tessa, is the need for you to listen to me. You can’t give me a tattoo there, and if you don’t stop pushing my boundaries, I won’t let you give me a tattoo anywhere.”
I knew I was being blunt, but sometimes that sort of thing is called for. I did not intend to metaphorically throw the glove in her face, but she took it as an insult anyway.
“If that’s how it is, then know that you are very rude and are also now my enemy,” she huffed. She turned her back on me and crossed her arms.
The bartender approached obsequiously, with an oversized pickle on a tray. The fumes wafting from it were eye-watering. He murmured, “This will calm the lady down, sir. She can sniff it, or lick it, maybe chew it a little if needed. The mix is very potent.”
“Thanks.” I took the pickle from him and he scuttled back to the bar.
I laid my hand on Tessa’s shoulder. When she whirled around, I offered her the alcoholic vegetable. “Maybe we should slow down,” I said. “We spent so many years apart, it’s hard to jump into a relationship, much as we both might want to. We need to get to know each other again. Tell me your story,” I coaxed as she eyed the pickle warily. “Tell me what happened to you all those years we were apart. I lost track of you when you went to South America. Last I heard, you were in jail. Mime jail.”
“It wasn’t jail.” She took a hefty bite of the pickle. “At first I was undercover, and then I was their prisoner.”
bonus points for using them in reverse order