MASTERbaterCARD

In toad's illusion of reality, I had broken up with him since he wasn't defending our 'love' and was letting The Witches interfere with our 'relationship'. Since toad had never been in a relationship, the silence a/k/a the break-up had to be devastating. Toad also knew my pussy was turbo-cized and that I was riding cock. He was probably questioning what I needed him for, if anything.

I wasn't answering toad's calls. If I felt like it, I would text him short, snippy, bitchy texts: Bizzzzy notime2talk -or- Have u fixed things w/M&M (toad's Mom and sister Mercedes). Toad's response to the latter: It isnt that easy. My response: guess u dont care @ our love. Sometimes I would ignore his texts, letting him stew.

I especially wasn't letting him unlock his dickie cage. When he came to clean my apartment, do laundry, etc., on Saturday, I made sure I wasn't home. All he could look at was pix of me on his cell phone screen and sniff my panties (surely the little toad does the sniffy-sniffy). My apartment was spotless and toadless when I returned. I didn't say anything about his toadly cleaning performance, I called and said abruptly that he had to fix 'it', at least with his Mother, on Mother's Day or else. He promised he would, and sounded like he might cry. I hung up. I can't stand when wimps cry.

Toad's rental property is going to settlement at the end of the month and toad has promised me tuition money. So the high of making up with me must be orchestrated, so I can maximize my take from the toad. I think the toad would have done A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G to get me back. But there would have to be a price for making up. And the price? Make toad give me a credit card. "For emergencies" would be the justification.

I 'Mother's Dayed' with my Mom and called toad when I got home. He assured me that everything was OK with Mama Toad. Are you sure? Yes, I'm sure. Are you really sure? Yes, I'm sure.

The timing couldn't have been better. Tropical Storm Andrea, the first tropical storm of the season had already made an appearance, and with a 'bad' hurricane season expected, I immediately dismissed the Mama Toad situation as if it were a fly that had been swatted in favor of conversing about the weather -or- the price of making up.

To snare the little toad, I confessed my hurricane horror stories: evacuation with my cats, clothes and computer stuffed in my car, running out of gas trying to get north to my sister's in Orlando. But most dramatic was how my Mom, sister and I had lost our home in Hurricane Andrew when I was 9 and that I still have nightmares about how the house peeled away around us while we were huddled in a closet. Everything is true, but I maximized it for the toad. I wanted him to feel responsible if anything like that were to happen to me again.

And so I told the toad 'we' needed to have a credit card together. That it would mean 'we' were 'involved', that our tenuous relationship was now superglued by MasterBATERCard. And I would have something I could use in case of emergency. Toad agreed, but he would have agreed to a hot poker being shoved up his peener if everything could be dialed back to the way it was. So the toad hopped over Monday during lunch hour and while I listened impatiently, toad called one of his credit card companies and ordered an extra card for me. I have no idea what the credit line is, but I shall call the # when the card arrives, to find out. I let him unlock and do his thing in the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet and flushing away the worthless spume. I didn't even watch, I couldn't be bothered.