My Name is Inogo Montoya

Prepare to Die.

Not really, y'all. C'mon. If I'd take you out, it would be way more subtle. And after a lunch of sweet tea, or dinner with cocktails - you know, the Southern way.

But this post is about revenge. Mostly.

This girl has been angry of late.

There are people I know who should be suffering; I hate that I want them to be experiencing such.

There are people I know who need grace - God's, as I do believe in such - and I am hoping it is received.

There are people who do things like . . . break in a car window and take a purse and phone, etc, happy go lucky and all that. [Insert expletive here- it happened to my mama two days ago! Outside the grocery!]

There are people I - see- daily -  who ask others for money and claim homelessness -  yet decline offers of a fresh meal from the restaurant outside, or a trip to the mini-grocery to get some food.

There are people I know who just. . . suck. I'd have placed an adverb in there but it would be tacky and . . . everything I do not want to be.

There are people who you have a hunch won't tip you well - or at all, honestly - then pay with a $20 gift card for a bill of  $22.91 - and leave $23 to cover the whole tab.

This time last year, I was still in my salad days, so to speak, and most if not all  meals were well-covered and much enjoyed, every day.

I took a shower a bit ago, after taking Sir Luke out for a walk, and picking up the application for the apartment I hope I will move into, soon.

And I thought, washing things and all that  when I got home, and picturing such in the new, potential place - I get to handle my own kitchen, my own life, my own dog.

Prepare to "die" in some way, if you dare mess with that.

Just sayin' . . .

Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal