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Which Came First?

  • Jan. 8th, 2005 at 9:00 AM
Bill Hicks
"It's David Bowie's birthday today," the Muse said. She was briskly stirring a mixture of scrambled eggs and milk in a glass over the stovetop. "He's older than dirt."

"Wow," I said, my head propped in my hands. I was at the dining room table, forbidden to help with the cooking of breakfast. The Muse's taster was on vacation, she's said, and she didn't trust me not to poison her with an overdose of MSG, cayenne pepper or liquid bleach. "Is that older or younger than Iggy Pop?"

"Oh, Iggy's immortal. Age has no hold over him."

"Neither does methadone, I would think."

"Do you want me to spit in your eggs? 'Cause I will."

I shook my head. "That's okay, Muse, but thanks. A little pepper will be enough for me."

"Heathen," she said, and poured the eggs and milk into the pan on the stove. She cooked in silence a while, which I knew meant she was thinking. The Muse is generally only quiet when she's reading or thinking heavy thoughts. I sat and sipped my coffee, knowing better than to interrupt or rush her.

"You know why I love you so much?" she asked finally.

"Because I buy you things?" I said, my mouth moving faster than my brain.

"No, you idiot." She blew a stray strand of dark hair up off her forehead. "Although that is a nice fringe benefit."

"Whore," I said mildly.

"Donkey-raping shit-eater," she returned.

"Wow. You're a pig."

She shrugged. "South Park was on the other night. I'm impressionable."

"Apparently so."

She put the eggs on two plates and joined me at the table. "It's because you keep believing," she said.

"In South Park?"

"No. You keep believing in me. No matter how much I cock things up, you're always there to help me put it back together again."

"Well, Muse, in case you hadn't noticed, I sort of like you a little bit."

She smiled at me. "I've noticed. I don't know what I do to deserve it, though."

I leaned towards her. "I asked you almost that exact same question not too long ago, Muse. Do you remember what you said to me then?"

She shook her head.

"You said that you loved me just because I was me. And shockingly, sweetpea, that's exactly the same reason that I love you."

"Because I'm you?" she asked, then giggled. "That's so Zen."

I poked my fork at her threateningly. "Shut up, cheer up, and then eat your eggs. I'm not afraid to use this thing."

She raised a bite to her lips and mumbled, before shoving the eggs in, "Donkey raper."

"Shaddup. And that was so not Zen, you swine."

"Whatevah. Eat your eggs and then go buy me something."

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If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want yourself to be happy, practice compassion.

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