My frigid left hand reaches and tickles the nightstand. The slick cellophane of a box of Parliament Lights meets my fingertips with sacred delight.
It’s on! I can now rise and shine. Waking up is never this easy. History tells me this could be the dreaded phantom pack which houses only a useless lighter...nope! Not this time.
Yes! This pretty pack of cancer sticks runs 7 deep. Seven is always lucky. I only need one right now.
Where the fuck is my lighter? I knew this was too good to be true. Seven lucky cigarettes and no fire.
The search party begins....
“You got a lighter?”, I call out to my snoring, sleeping beauty with no reply. My hand’s scanning every corner my 77 inch reach provides. There’s those lucky 7’s again. My blood begins to boil. “Bullshit”, now I’m angry!
“Where the fuck did you put the lighter?", I ask my wife as she instantly hurls a pillow which whizzes right by my head. She belts out, “Look in your ass bitch!”
I’m not the only one who’s edgy this morning. There’s still no sign of the lighter, and therefore, no luck. Nicotine is my caffeine. At this point nicotine is my morphine. How’d the morning start so bad?
I nudge my Narcoleptic Nymph with one last, desperate attempt. I try the nice role this time, “ Honey, you got the lighter?” There’s no response, no pulse. “Hey…….Hey”, I whisper. “Where’s the lighter?”
BAM! Another pillow missile. This is not friendly fire. (Morning foes at the hands of the cigarillos.) “Check your ass!” she growls.
Now that’s just rude. I’m the king of this castle. Guess this means I gotta get my big ass up. To my dismay, I step up the bounty and begin my journey toward the bathroom.
My feet hit the cold floor and I reach for ceiling. As I yawn I hear a small “CLANK.” The noise is followed by what I can only describe as a strange, itchy, irritation, coming from my U.A.L.B. (upper ass, lower back). It seems an unidentified object dislodged itself from my ass-neck.
The sarcasm my wife normally slings my way, was indeed factual this morning. The lighter slept nestled, warm and cozy against my ass throughout night!
“Honey, where’d you put the camera? You gotta take a picture of this!”
Her reply: “It’s in your ass bitch!"
These pictures were taken directly after
the events described above.
I am wearing white basketball shorts and the imprint
is just above the waistband.
Taken with an infrared
camera. You can see the heat outline of the
lighter very clear.
lighter imprint above ass