"Would you rather lick a hobo's foot or sniff a rat's ass?"
Cole looked at me a glare of intent, he wanted an answer. I sealed my lips.
It was a fine autumn morning, Cole and I set out in the brisk of the day down to the local shops. His taste of "Would you rathers" have usually been quite childish and, often downright disgusting. And much to his glee and my despair, today was the worst yet. At 10:00AM, we had gone through 3 rounds of his vile game, I had chosen pepper spray over mace, kissing an old lady over blowing an old man, and a clown suit over ballerina. My tragic tales began at the stroke of noon.
To begin, we set afoot to the local shops to pick out a costume for an evening party. We entered the store and that's when Cole started his first round,
"Would you rather be hit by a can of mace or sprayed by pepper spray?"
I raised a brow, Cole sometimes had a way with wording, sometimes he means what he means.
"Like a physical can?"
"Yep, straight to your head"
I brushed through an array of vivid costumes, and took a dress and held it upon me, letting my hair fall to the collar of the dress, "Pepper spray, definitely." It was then my turn. Now I'm not as violent, but I too had a wild imagination, "Would you rather run naked on the streets or poop yourself in public and why?" I always loved to add the 'and why' he doesn't do it for me, but I do it for him.
"Pfft, easy. Poop myself. For one, I wouldn't be called on by the cops, and second I might get some pity, if you know what I mean." He flashed me wink. Cole was single, but my god, he had no mingle.
From there was another round. None of the costumes seemed to flatter my physique, my face was too blocky and my chest was flat. His voice seemed to shriek over my mind as I boggled on what to wear, "Kiss an old lady or blow an old man? Kiss an old lady or blow an old man? Are you listening? Kiss an old lady or blow an old man!?" I chose the old lady, it was the most logical, I hear stories of old men getting too worked up and get into cardiac arrest.
With an hour of search, I was at the peak of my frustration. Nothing worked, nothing flattered me, it was an absolute mess. Cole didn't seem to bother me with his game, in fact, I didn't even realize he had disappeared from my sights. That was then I heard a subtle whisper from a rack of costumes.
"Pssssssst! Would you rather be a clown or a ballerina for the day?" And out from the flourescent colors Cole appeared, in his hands, two costumes. A snarl curled from my lip, as I grabbed the red and white clown costume and headed to the changing stall. Goddamn Cole. Sometimes he means what he means.
With our-- or should I say my quest for a costume complete, the autumn winds carried the fresh smell of baked goods and dark coffee. A corner cafe where the elderly community all scuttled together, like a cast of crabs. I tried my best to avoid eye contact, especially with the old folks; they could be judgemental as f***! Pardon my language!
Cafe Cat, was the name. It had a beautiful outdoor parasol-themed layout, all beneath maple trees. We sat directly across an old couple, my eyes constantly locked with a lady with vicious lean eyes. She eyeballed my red nose countless times. She fidgetted her seat, and growled as she snapped pieces of croissants to the back of her wrinkled up flesh. Then she snapped. She herself! As she marched over, her crooked finger targetted my innocent hazel eyes-- or it could have been my curled red wig.
"You! You are a menace! A menace to society!" She blurted out. Straight with it, she was. I raised my arms in hopes to give an explaination.
"T-This is a costume! I'm just a perso--"
But she just kept on going. The old man who sat alone, who I presumed to be the husband paid no attention and took sips of his coffee. Her voiced creaked, stressing the notes of the words, 'Menance! Freak! Clown! Getup!' While Cole sat there, laughing. With the constant screaming, I started to get dizzy, I shut my eyes hoping that all would end well. There was a sudden thump. But it wasn't me. It was the old hag! The witch was slain, but by who? That was when my eyes widened, as beneath my feet, laid a motionless old woman.
Now my mind no longer dizzy, instead it raced faster than war horses.
"H-Help! Cole, help her S-Somebody h-help! 9-1-1, CALL THE MANAGER." But nobody heeded my call. As I looked around, there was not a soul at the cafe. Just me, Cole, and the old couple.
"CPR, WE NEED TO DO CPR." Cole got up from his seat, "I'll call 9-1-1." But the problem was still at hand, and not breathing. Her body like a twig, her crinkled lips, I gagged underneath my clownish features. I did all I could by memory from my sophmore days; 10 chest pumps, head titled up and I locked lips with the witch. I let go of her lips, 1 minute, 2 minutes, 3 minutes... She didn't move.
Then in a matter of minutes, you guys showed up! And I swear, it was all a misunderstanding. When I heard the march of your steps, I lifted my head with such happiness! Did you not see that wide grin on my face? I suppose you didn't, as one of your men put me in an arm lock and a jolt of pepper spray seeped into my eyes.
The officer gave me a stern look, "We just wanted to know what happened with the woman; not your day, clown."