I pull off the ribbon first, and then the wrapping."Do you like it?" she asks."No."She whips a handgun out of her robe, points it casually between my eyes and asks again, “Do you like it?”“I’m not going to lie. No. I hate it.”Her weapon is a revolver. She pulls the hammer back. I watch the cylinder rotate. “And what you mean,” she prompted, “is that you don’t like it – you love it. Right?”“What I mean,” I insist, “is that I don’t like it. I hate it.”She presses the gun into my forehead. It’s cold. Heavy. “You’re changing your mind, right?”“No.”She screws the barrel back and forth, the friction marking my forehead. “Last chance to appreciate my present.”I sigh and plunge my switchblade between her breasts before she has a chance to react. “You know how I feel about lying, hon.”
Honesty really is the best policy.