The Lock

“Just one date. I’ll take you out anywhere you want to go.” The key persisted.


“But you don’t even know me. You might have the best time of your life.”

“You’re not the right size,” the lock answered bluntly.

“Size doesn’t matter, baby.” The key was bordering on begging and nothing bothered her more than weakness. Instead of molding to the right situation if it should arise, this key was obnoxious. He was a whiner. He was never going to get anywhere.

Besides his constant pushiness, he was definitely too small for her. He was all talk and no action right from the start. How would he even be able to preform?  Instead she would sit closed minded for the entire night while he eyed her steely reserve. She could imagine it now: Him, trying to soften her up with a drink and she, slowly blurring the lines between hope and reality. She would never open up.

“No,” she shook her head.

“We can go out for dinner. Or a drink somewhere. Your choice – you choose. Anywhere you want to go.”

“I’m going to stay here.” She said.


“Because,” she said, suddenly remembering a key phrase. “I’m attached.”


Photo by Ailleana

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