My Shorty
She is the type of person that demands attention. Her laugh is loud, boisterous and long. It's the kind of laugh that echoes in a room regardless of how utterly quiet or clamoring with activity it may be. Round brown eyes and full lips compliment her short stature appropriately. Her physical appeal can easily be described as intoxicating and alluring.
She carries herself with confidence and each movement is fine tuned over-exaggeration from years of practice. Chin up and shoulders squared, she challanges everyone that meets her sweeping gaze. She is used to being the center of attention and nothing short of this will do. Often she is lauded as a spitfire, a firecracker and even a sparkplug. Dilect too is accented by her Central american roots and social upbringing; a slightly "poor suburban" twang that suits her well. She is hell on heels, a five foot nothing ball of salsa dancing fire. I have watched many a man fall to pieces and clamor over themselves just to get a minute of her time.
There are moments, few and far between, when she lets her guard down and the raw emotion of wanting someone to share life with creeps to the forefront. Only to be brushed aside with a teasing giggle and a playful kiss on the cheek before she once again dashes away into the night, forever searching for an untamed heart.
***
The original idea for my descriptive essay has fallen on the way side. I could make up a valid excuse as to why, but simple truths are much more entertaining:
My shorty bought me lunch and dinner tonight, rubbed lotion on my almost healed tattoo and pampered me by catering to whatever whim I could come up with. She asked for nothing in return, she never does this girl. Her only expectations were a few kisses, some snuggle time and to once again engage me in a wide arrary of random and pointless conversational topics because I am a "good listener". Now why can't I find a girl like this that I actually have something in common with, eh?
***
Doctors office tomorrow; initial diagnosis is bronchitis, sinus infection, a viscious cold and a liver transplant. Vegas post mortem to come. For now this will have to do as I need to chase away the Sandman before such a tale can be told. It seems like days upon days since he last visited.
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