“I stay away from women like her,” Brooks said as he watched the tiny brunette with the sparkling eyes.
Eric glanced at her. He had noticed her as well. “Why?”
“It’s the Seven Dwarf syndrome.”
“No Dopey, Sleepy . . .”
“Everyone’s sleepy at some time…”
“Sneezy, Happy, Grumpy…”
“What’s wrong with happy?”
“Doc and definitely no Bashful.”
Eric shook his head and downed the rest of his stout. “What’s so wrong with Bashful?”
Brooks jerked his head at the girl again and Eric turned toward her. Their eyes met. A soft flush curled over her cheeks, a cute return smile, and then she looked away. Entrancing, Eric thought.
“Look at you, dude. This is what I mean,” Brooks said.
“That’s the kind of girl who gets you to do stupid things and the stupidest of all is marrying her,” Brooks said. He gestured to the bartender for another round. “Happy is almost as bad because they make you think everything is right with the world. You know that’s full of shit.”
“Pot, kettle,” Eric said.
“Your Seven Dwarf syndrome philosophy sounds bonkers.”
“Yeah, that’s me, Bonkers, but you’re the one who’s about to go talk to Bashful, right?”
“Could be. Could be I’m seeing some Happy in my future, too.”
“Aw, man, that’s just sad.”
Categories: Flash Fiction