Shopping Seasons
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For fuck's sake, the moment they move those absurd heart-shaped boxes of chocolate to the discount bin, the aisles fill with plastic eggs, plastic grass, rubber baskets, and the same cheap, waxy chocolate that was in the hearts only now it's trapped in eggs, or shaped like rabbits.
Dorian is holding up a plush bunny, inspecting it. He shows it to me like he wants me to comment.
"Horrible," I say. He frowns and presses his lips together at my dismissal.
"We should get a child," he says absent mindedly squeezing the toy to his chest, admiring all the cute shit in bins in all directions.
Oh Jesus, here we go again. This. This is the last thing I need. Though, when I think of Dorian holding a baby...
"Synthetic calibration incomplete," my leg blurts to the whole fucking world, as if having a synthetic leg isn't bad enough. I'm temporarily locked in place and I cling to the nearby shelf of peeps to steady myself. "Synthetic calibration incomplete." Why make it look like a real leg, match my skin tone, move like real muscle, and then put a big fucking speaker on the side that squawks every time there's a blip?
Dorian stops touching the pastel kitsch in favor of fussing over me. Some woman pushing a brat in a cart stops to stare at us. I can't tell if it's because I look miserable, or my loud leg, or my colorful language, or because my android boyfriend has his hands all over me like an octopus.
Her dumb-looking kid points at me.
"Easter bunny's dead," I snap, sending the little boy into a full on fit and the woman glowers and shoves her cart off, pawing at her son.
Dorian gives me a furious look but I know he loves me anyhow. But, just to be certain, I buy him that stupid plush bunny.