Donkey, Porcelain, Questions

She bought the trivia game because the mascot on the box was a fat donkey. The thing looked like a furry beachball with four kickstands keeping it from rolling over. Questions were her favorite anyways. Not politics or history or geography or sports. Just questions.

How do I look? Why is my brain like this? Do you own any clothes that match? Why do you even like me?

Questions were her favorite.

She left for work in an hour, but we needed to play the fat donkey game. “When I get home, you leave for work and when will we get another chance that isn’t forever away?”

Absolute favorites, those questions.

We rolled the dice in the sink as she did the dance of a thousand brushes. It was her turn.

Question: “In The Hunchback of Notre  Dame, what was Quasimodo’s job?”

“I know this!” her eyes lit up, “I know this!”

Her eyes search up, lights go out “I knew this! Damn it, why am I like this?! Why can’t I ever remember? I always forget things…oh!”

“He was a tower dingdonger! What’s it called…?”

I laugh, she fumes. Now it’s her own questions.

Doesn’t that count? Why do I bother? Why am I like this? Why do you even like me?

Because we played the fat donkey game in the bathroom sink. Because now, forever, Quasimodo is a dingdonger.

It counts.

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