Crystal's Lizards

Forty-two small, green lizards lined up to lick the big toe on Crystal’s left foot. She hated to disappoint them so she asked Roger to wait until the procession of reptiles had each had their turn before they left for the airport. Roger, of course, complained in that whiny, nasal voice that Crystal had come to despise ever since she had agreed to accompany him on this trip to The Barbados.
“Fuck off Roger,” said Crystal with a look of disdain on her freckled face, “Go take a cab by yourself. If I miss the plane, at least I’ll be spared sitting next to you on the fight home.”
Roger pouted. He pouted a lot over the past four days. Crystal hadn’t lived up to his expectations. She was not pliable enough; she was too…independent. “Fine, I’m going. You can stay here with those damn lizards, they’re cold blooded, just like you.”
“You’re a dick, Roger,” spat Crystal, “a real small dick. Now get the fuck out of here before I turn you into lizard chow.”
As Roger stormed away, Crystal turned her attention back to the lizards. They were so cute, each one waiting its turn in the grass, just off the patio. When one would finish its licking, the next would waddle up and take its place. She found their ministrations to be more calming than valium. Crystal leaned back in the deck chair, closed her eyes, and realized her toe had an erection.