One Flew Uber the Chakram’s Nest
By
Stacia Seaman
I had forgotten about this story. I had! Can you believe it? But, you know what? It’s okay. It’s a good thing, because this weekend I had a chance to reacquaint myself with it all over again. And it was a tremendously enjoyable experience, all over again.
But, anyway. I am sure you read this story before, since it’s only, like, one of the cult offerings of the Uber genre. I will not call this story an Uber parody (though it is) because it’s too damn good to be boxed into such a defined category. This story is hilarious (think Viv or Charmer kind of hilarious), very well written and – most importantly – makes repetitive mention of many a bedside and waterproof, and to borrow a phrase, "non-factory issued" implements. I mean, honestly, I think I’ve depleted my "gushy and prolific accolades" fund, since nothing I can tell you will be enough to describe how much I like this story. I’ve been laughing all the way through. Why? Take a look:
"…"I guess I probably owe you an apology," she offered, with a low chuckle and a sheepish expression. Pushing away from the counter, she began to pace the length of the kitchen. In a low, intense voice, she continued, "I don't know what's going on. I've been thinking about you, dreaming about you. Well, not you exactly," she ran a hand through her dark hair, "unless you have a pea-green sports bra?"
I shook my head.
"Didn't think so. Anyway, I tried to ignore it until I saw you the other day at the gym. When your eyes met mine, I finally understood." She stopped pacing, standing directly in front of me. "You're a part of me." She knelt. "You're my other half."
I choked on my tea, usually a bad thing, but now provided a wonderful reason for me not to respond to her statement. She jumped back to avoid being sprayed, setting her breasts in motion, and once again I inhaled hot liquid. As I coughed and sputtered, I wondered whether anyone, even someone as hot as this woman, was worth what I'd been put through all day."
I hate it when that happens. Really, I do. Stacia feels my pain. And so will you if you don’t write to her and ask why she’s not regaling us with her prose anymore. Go, enjoy yourselves. I sure as hell did. Now I’m off to see if I can locate my gym card. It’s been a while…