YoYo Cradled the Tarot Deck to her Bosom
any persons who might be within hearing- Don’t you know that I love you?
- “Hadn’t you better come and ask yourself?” she asked, demurely.
- melts beautifully on the tongue
- one of those times we just did oral
Tune in next time part 449 Click Here for Earlier Installments
YoYo cradled the tarot deck to her bosom, closed her eyes, and said, “I call out to any persons who might be within hearing, but who are dead, to guide me.” She then laid one last card in the final position of the spread before her. “The matchmaker! Well, that’s unexpected.” She looked at me and said, “I suppose you’ll have to get divorced.”
“What? Why?” I asked.
“Don’t you know that I love you? It’s written in the cards. There can be no other interpretation.” She tilted her head and squinted. “In truth I don’t feel it yet myself, but the cards don’t lie.” She shrugged.
I was alarmed. “Ask the cards what the Warlord would say if I tried to divorce his daughter.”
“Hadn’t you better come and ask yourself?” she asked, demurely.
“There’s really no reason to,” I said. “I won’t be divorcing Fleur, and you don’t actually love me, no matter what those pieces of painted ivory say.”
“These cards aren’t ivory! How barbaric!” YoYo shuddered. “They’re carved from yeti bones!”
“Yeti bones?”
“In the Paradoxica Mountains we use every part of the yeti. The meat is a specialty, served only at high festivals. It melts beautifully on the tongue…”
“Yeti’s aren’t real.”
YoYo gasped. “Blasphemer! I can’t believe I had sex with a nonbeliever 27 times (even if one of those times we just did oral) and am carrying his child!”
“It’s probably twins,” I said. “They run in my family.”
“I don’t believe in twins,” YoYo spat.
bonus points for using them in order
“As I lay here with you, I think of him. Not just his physical aspect, warmth and solidness, but his humor and his regrets. So I wonder about your regrets. We began as colleagues, and bonded over the riddle of the dark thorn stuck in the skin of a quarantined banana. It was fascinating. We ruled out every known kind of plant that produces thorns, so in the end we failed to determine whether this one might be dangerous, or deduce anything useful about where those bananas had been. But researching it side-by-side for a year and a half was how you and I fused into a single entity. He knew it was happening. He collapsed on the sofa the first night, sobbing, and there he lay for eighteen months. One day he was gone. I hear that now he only eats bananas.”
As I lay here with you, I am reminded of a weird, feminist retelling of Sleeping Beauty, where it was the prince who pricked his finger and fell asleep. Instead of a misadventure with a spinning wheel, the prince encountered an enchanted rose bush belonging to a witch. He made a ham-fisted attempt at plucking a bloom for his girlfriend and got jabbed. The dark thorn stuck in the skin of his index finger and he fell over, unconscious, on the garden path, and there he lay for eighteen months until he was awakened by a kiss from the valiant female gardener. It was fascinating.”