Together: Another Word Dissection

Together: Another Word Dissection brought to you by the insane mind that is Deon Mumple.  I have a short dissection today; if you like them, you might really like this one because it’s like a good sermon: short.

Ok, I have a confession to make.  We’re not just married.  We’re living together.  Mrs M and I might as well be living in sin.  Well, that’d be more fun I suppose.  And hence the origin of my word dissection.  I suppose that since Word starts with “W” I should start a “thing” where I do “Word Dissection Wednesday.”  Well, fuck that, it’s not going to happen on any regular schedule because I write whatever I’m inspired to write.  And today, it’s “together.”  I don’t really have the mental faculty to stick with a “thing.”  So if you’re into those, I’m sorry.

It’s come to my attention that we’re living “together.”  More to the point, I’m living “together.”  You’re reading this saying to yourself, Deon is a fruitbat.  He’s fucking out of his gourd.  But wait.

I’m living “to-get-her.”  Ah, you say, that makes sense.  Or maybe not.

I WANT “to get her.”  Which I think might be the goal of a guy deciding to live “to-get-her” with someone.  Maybe it’s just the alcohol talking.  Or maybe not.  She’s the prize.  Mrs. M is all that, a bag of chips, a sack lunch, and a roll.  In the sack.  Which is awesome.  I’ll take the prize, if I can get her.

I’ve got a “honey-do list, which fucking SUCKS.  But if I get her, it’s worth it.  I think if more men lived “to-get-her” and to keep her, a lot of ladies would be much, much happier in life.

I’m a bit jealous of the word dissection.  I wish there was a living “to-get-him.”  But there isn’t.  WHY, Language inventors,WHY!!!???

Am I not a prize?  Am I not worthy of pursuit?  I, and all man-kind with me?  Well, honestly, I’ve met a lot of men who weren’t worth shit, or worth their skin, or worth much of anything.  But damn it.  I want to be worth pursuit, and I want Mrs. M to realize it.

Until then, because I want to be worth more than shit, more than my own skin, worthy to-get-her, I’m going to keep on living “to-get-her.”  Speaking of which, I’ve got this damned “honey-do” list and so I’m going to go work on that.  To get her.  Might not happen the way I want, but that remains to be seen.  “Hope springs eternal,” the poet wrote.

Dishes.  Garden.  Trash.

Fuck.  Is there an easier way to-get-her?  Or is the work all part of the “joy” of the conquest?  Shouldn’t it be simpler to-get-her after more than 20 years?



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