"This isn't what I had in mind," Myx said.
"I told you we were going to take a pic with a cone," I said. I tried to sound matter of fact.
"Yeah--I was thinking the ice cream variety."
"Then--that would make you wrong, wouldn't it?"
For some bad reason, I was in the mood to antagonize Myx a little bit today. That never turned out well for me, but on some occasions--the words just slip out.
"What else do you think of when the word 'cone' comes up, Myx?" Maybe I could obfuscate (heh, heh!) before Myx came up with yet another way to verbally jab at me.
"Cone: a surface generated by a straight line, the generator, passing through a fixed point, the vertex, and moving along the intersection with a fixed curve, the directrix."
Myx had drained all the pitch and tone out of his voice and sounded almost like a robot. Good--he was into the diversion. Myx welcomed any chance to show off his synesthesia, his photographic memory; any book he saw, he remembered word-for-word. This was just another example of some dictionary from his past.
"Didn't you know a directrix, Dave?" Myx asked suddenly.
"That was Mistress Mandy, a dominatrix--I mean ... no ...I don't know anyone like that!"
"Still, here I am next to this stupid safety cone."
"At least nobody is going to trample you," I encouraged.
Miracle Myx
Dave's Wondrous MySpace!
No comments:
Post a Comment