An Explanation

An Explanation (GW500)

I've never been an intimidating guy, but hey, being five and a half feet tall will do that to a person. It's hard to get someone to fear you when you're glaring up their nostrils. One thing I've learned in life is that nostrils, well, they really don't give a shit. At first glance, people laugh at me.

Gives me a lot of sympathy for some of the world's more infamous dictators and conquerors. Genghis Khan, Napoleon, Alexander the Great... all of them short little fuckers like me. When the entire world is looking down its nose at you, it's hard not to approach even something as simple as grocery shopping like you have something to prove.

Which really is just a big explanation for why I got in the fight. One big excuse for one little guy.

You see, I happen to like crunchy peanut butter. It's not a crime, and it's not a big deal. I was feeling mildly cranky because Quatre had snorked down the last of my jar and then gotten called off on a... thing, and asking Heero to make sure the peanut butter was crunchy rather than smooth was like trying to explain the difference between cyan and turquoise. If you want something done right, you do it yourself, so I went to the grocery store for my peanut butter, and a few other things.

Pickles, paper towels, seven rolls of bandages, and a bottle of drain cleaner later, I was in the aisle with the peanut butter. I thought there wasn't even any crunchy right off - what, there's a war on and suddenly the crunchy peanut butter supply goes to shit? It's not like it's necessary to the war effort. But then I spotted one lonely jar on the top shelf. I had to get on my tip toes and stretch for it.

Then this punk with bad hair and disturbing hygiene swoops in and grabs it out right from under my fingertips. And had the cajones to actually grin at me and show off that no, he'd never had more than a passing handshake with a toothbrush.

"Hey man, I was going for that. Can I have it, please?" I asked, trying to play it nice.

"Too slow, kid." He didn't seem at all sorry.

"Come on, you grabbed it practically out of my hand. That's not cool," I was starting to get more annoyed at this point.

He didn't seem phased at all. "Tough shit, short stuff," he said. I hate it when people call me crap like that. It's so patronizing. "You want it?" he held the jar up over his head, at least six inches out of my reach. "Get tall enough to grab it." He was wearing an unzipped leather jacket and a fishnet shirt under it.

I smiled and showed him my nice dental work. That's a sure sign I'm pissed, but he was too stupid to notice. "Deal." The jar was mine.

...and that, officer, is why I ripped out his nipple ring.