He Pleads . . . Fireworks?

Guess who this guilty pleasure belongs to...

Guess who this guilty pleasure belongs to…

A: Come on, D. Spill it. What are your guilty pleasures?

D: A, I’m as close to an ascetic as one can be.

A: That is a load of malarkey – you’ve taken ‘warrior-priest’ to a whole new extreme. Besides, I happen to know your heart still beats in double-time whenever Mairead sidles by.

D: Perhaps – but that is not something for which I feel guilty. Besides, it is not yet our time – and I shall not be some faithless cad–

A: Okay, okay – God, you are so pedantic. What about other things?

D: Other things?

A: You know, food. TV shows. Books. Your love of cats, even though you keep decrying the lack of war hounds in my home?

D: I never—

A: I didn’t say those were true – except for the last one. Ha!

D: One can love cats and hounds, A. I appreciate cats for their mystery.

A: Right. And not for their fluffy bellies, and their ecstatic chasing of the little red dot.

D: Oh. You heard that, did you?

A: You are in my head. I hear everything.

D: Oh.

A: Yeah. Okay, so we have cats on the list. Anything else?

D: I didn’t say—

A: Anything else?

D: You are relentless.

A: You aren’t answering the question.

D: Fine. Katy Perry songs.

A: Katy Perry?

D: Yes.

A: . . . Forgive me, I’m still trying to wrap my head around this one. I mean, I enjoy her songs and all, but um, it just doesn’t jive with my vision of—

D: Did you know you’re a firework, A?

A: Wow.

D: And, A. You’re original, cannot be replaced.

A: Okay, you can stop now. I can see why maybe you’d consider that a guilty–

D: Hey – you know what, A? I’m not ashamed. I’m proud. You hear that world? Proud!

A: . . . Okay then. Well, on that note—

D: Not so fast, A – what is your guilty pleasure?

A: Mine? Oh, well. I don’t–

D: Come on, spill it.

A: Fine. Potatoes.

D: Potatoes?

Yep. Potatoes. I even go so far as to grow them!

Yep. Potatoes. I even go so far as to grow them!

A: Yeah. Potato in all its delicious, carby forms: chips, crisps, fries. Baked, mashed, twice-baked breaded and deep-fried. Scalloped and creamed, boiled alive—

D: Okay, okay, I get it – please stop waxing lyrical about potatoes.

A: Oh come on, D – I think I feel a poem coming on!

D: And on that note, we are definitely going to bid you all a fond farewell!

A: Do you have a guilty pleasure? Drop a line in comments. Thank you for stopping by and reading!

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For the Daily Post challenge: No Apologies

0 thoughts on “He Pleads . . . Fireworks?

  1. I guess since we’re all in the confessing mood, I like Katy Perry songs too, lol. Mmm, potatoes, yum, especially with cheese! 🙂 Oh, oh, you’ve given me an idea! 😀

  2. Fi-diddle-dee-die potatoes? Really? (Mmmmm… potatoes.)
    Guilty pleasures…. okay… every once in a while, I indulge in the most white trash of concoctions, fried bologna sandwich, on Wonder Bread, with processed cheese slices and yellow mustard.
    And then I usually have an upset tummy afterward.

    Musically, my guilty pleasure? Toxic, by Britney Spears — and strangely enough, not the original, but any of the many cover versions. Seriously, even Marillion has covered that song.

    Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Truly. I shouldn’t love it the way I do, but I do. What can I say? Joss Whedon could write my snappy dialogue any day.

    And that’s all I have for confession today. Bless me, Sister, for I have sinned.

    • Darnit, I forgot Buffy! That’s the family favorite for guilty pleasures. I have yet to have a fried bologna sandwich, although its cousin, american cheese fried sandwich was once a staple in our home (gluten free bread just doesn’t fry up as nice).

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