So I never asked to be a dwarf. Blame it on my mother, or maybe my father, or blame it on the fact that we were too poor to afford milk or meat in the early years of my life. Whatever, I’m a dwarf. Kay. I’ve accepted that. But then they go ahead and give you a name like Grumpy?
There should be a law, in these United States of America, forbidding any parent to name their kid an adjective. Okay, I can imagine worse. Hey, Brainwashed! Hey, Imbecilic. Yo, Insane. Grumpy is nice in comparison. But Grumpy still makes me grumpy.
And then they exile you to a remote forest somewhere in Wyoming. For what? I shoplifted a car tire. They would have never noticed if the tire wasn’t at least as big as I was (it was for my truck). They thought it was rolling away by itself.
But at least I met some other guys in the forest. There were seven of us total. We were cold, and winter was coming, so we decided to build a house. Well, okay, one of the guys had been stuck with a broken-down RV, so we just remodeled..
And then… and then this gorgeous girl appears in our yard one day, her long black hair in wild disarray, her backpack torn and filthy, a wildcat at her heels. We chased the wildcat away and invited her for dinner. We were forest folk now, but we still had manners.
She never once called me by my real name, Grumpy, like the others. She called me G.
Then the other guys caught off of that and started calling me Homie-G. I was cool with that.
I fell in love with that girl in just a few hours. But of course a few days later her boyfriend came stomping along in the forest looking for her, with his own tussled hair and ragged backpack. He found her sleeping outside on the grass after a long afternoon of playing Frisbee with us. He woke her up with a kiss and she followed him home.
I looked at the Frisbee in my fists and felt like I’d break it. So I tossed it to Doc. I felt a little better.
Grumpy never gets the girls.
~Angreek87
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