Mind Over Milkshakes

I was a simple picture of a person, just a gulp of a guy. She was not my first girl; she was the second. It was a Dairy Queen date, banana milkshakes, me tanking-up on her foggy eyes, imagining her naked foggy female body parts. It was then that she abruptly slammed her wet wriggling mind down on to the plastic tabletop. A floppy mind it was, with no brains and no bones. Her fishy mind edged closer to me as if wanting to be fed. I fled. That night I dreamed of her bubbly wet kisses flying like manta rays above the rooftops of our town seeking out foggy young men to puddle with.