One poof of the waffle crust

Something wasn't right in the way that he spoke. She couldn't hear past his sentences, or read between his words. Nothing poured out like old literature and wine skins; nothing made her see oceans and galaxies of stardust and Spanish chocolate. He, of course, was perfectly acceptable -more than enough, in all her friends' eyes (and he was, undoubtedly, in their eyes pretty often)..but there are certain times and certain hearts wherein that in itself is hardly, well, acceptable. It wasn't his fault, of course..it is never one's fault to be born with that thing between your legs.