Wolf Eyes versus Shark Tooth

Disco Naps are out: Ghetto Naps are in.

While lazing about on the opened futon couch, laughing at the antics of the Desparate Housewives, eating cookies off of our bellies and sucking back beers (who knew prone breasts make a convenient beer holder?), Coco Channel - my charming friend and cohort in the way of the ghetto nap - suggested that I should beware of Wolf Eyes.

She was contemplating the mess we had stepped into the previous evening.

"Nice. Coco," I replied, "You have such a way with words."

I furiously stuffed an olive in my mouth while I waited out the hideous flashback to the previous night. I muse out loud: "Why would Wolf Eyes - someone who never wanted to see me again (because it hurts too much) - spend an evening slobbering all over my chest, repeating the self-help mantra: "I'm okay, you're okay"?

Coco purrs, "Because he's pissing on his territory: 'If I can't have you, no one else can', hissss".

"Oh lord, I'm not even a housewife." And waiving my beer around in the air like a lefty pamplet, I announce in my throaty, Deitrich voice, "This kind of drama should remain in the box, daahhlink."

I wipe the beer spittle off my chest with the duvet. "Maybe I should call this the summer of 'Beware of Wolf Eyes and The Shark Tooth'? I'll make it a bitch fable on the blog."

Coco huffed and chortled, "He just kept looking at you with wolf eyes, waiting to devour." And swinging her head toward me without disrupting the obnoxious platter of heathenry precariously balanced on her chest, she hissed at me with mad eyes and said prophetically: "Beware the Wolf Eyes. Don't get trapped under his spell".

Stay tuned for the charming ghetto bedtime story: "Beware of Wolf Eyes and the Shark Tooth".... Trust me, it's required ghetto bitch reading.