He stood there in his impeccably tailored suit, looking as handsome as ever, and offered a charming, yet Devilish smile to soften his words.
I frowned, brushed some Doritos crumbs off of my toga, and quickly tried to fix my hair like some sort of self-conscious weirdo.
“We’re too far along in our relationship for me to even try to make an effort anymore,” I quipped.
Lucifer sighed mockingly and then made his way across the room with the long, confident strides of someone who is well aware that he will always be worth the effort.
“Seriously, though. You look spent. What were you doing before I got here?” Lucifer asked with genuine concern in his voice. “I wish I could ask who you were doing, but we both know you are pathetically single and not even making an effort at this point.”
I raised an eyebrow to that comment, which seemed a bit below the belt, but couldn’t be since togas do not have belts.
“I was actually out clearing snow off the roof and chopping the ice that had built up at the end of the driveway,” I explained as I grabbed a much deserved Snapple out of the cooler.
“It’s fifty degrees out there,” The Prince of Darkness declared as he fished his own bottle of Snapple out of the cooler. “Let global warming do the work for you.”
“There’s too much snow, so it needs a little help,” I informed him. “Plus, if there are any ice damns on the roof, it could cause a leak. It’s better to urge it along, instead of just sitting around and waiting for it to happen.”
“Kind of like your love life,” Satan mumbled.
I pretended that I didn’t hear him. I was too sore to argue. I just wanted to sit on the couch, drink Snapple, and watch a little TV.
“You know what we should do some Sunday when you have more energy and actually put a little effort into your appearance?” The Devil asked eagerly.
I wanted to ignore him, but he would just keep asking if I did.
“I give up,” I replied with absolutely no enthusiasm.
“One of those paint and sip classes,” Lucifer responded with far more enthusiasm than I would have expected given the subject matter.
I looked at him in confusion. “Do you mean that thing where you drink wine and then paint an awful picture that you don’t know what to do with when the night is done?”
“Art and wine. Two things I’ve never understood,” I crapped on the idea hard. “That would be a definite pass for me.”
Satan put down his bottle of Snapple and gave me a long, unsettling stare. “Art I get, but how do you not understand wine? You put it in a glass and drink it. Like Snapple, only with a kick.”
“I went to a couple of wine tastings after my divorce because I thought it would be a fun way to meet women,” I confessed. “I’d try all these wines, but I couldn’t differentiate one from the other. They all just tasted kind of sour and gross to be honest.”
Like relationships? Oh my…did I actually just form that though? Maybe I did need a little help in the dating department, but now was not the time to bring up that fact.
“I suppose it would be hard to chat up a woman at a wine tasting, if all you could offer on the subject was that the taste repulsed you,” The Devil conceded.
“And if you throw painting into the mix, you’re just asking for King Klutz over here to make a scene,” I assured him. “I would end up with more paint on me than on the canvas. Not my idea of fun.”
“It would definitely spice up your wardrobe, though,” Lucifer joked as he eyed my toga.
I said nothing because he was right and I wanted the conversation to end. Hopefully, next week’s short story will not be coming to you from the paint and sip place up the street.
A true artist would follow me on my blog and on Pinterest…