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Archive for the ‘romance’ Category


garden girl

My phone number belonged to a call girl before I got it from T-Mobile. She must have been really good because she still gets calls. I thought about answering numbers I don’t know with some themed response.

Since it was Christmas –

Do you want a one horse open sleigh or the whole team?

We’re running a two for one special on Santa’s Little Helper.

Would you like the two French hens and my partridge in your pear tree?

 

With this kind of talent, I should be writing erotica.

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Baby Kitty, that is not where you're face should be.

Baby Kitty, that is not where your face should be.

 

“Charles is having an affair,” Margo blurted out.

She glanced away, staring out the window as if she had just told me she bought a handbag that cost more than my mortgage. There was no point asking. Margo never said anything unless she was sure.

I glanced around the restaurant at the other ladies lunching. A lady at the next table was picking through a salad – no dressing, no cheese, no chicken, no onions. Onions were carbs she’d said. Her friend, just as thin, had plowed her way through a shrimp cocktail, egg rolls, and was now working her way through nachos. I noticed she went to the ladies’ room between each dish.

I love food too much to be anorexic and not enough to be bulimic, I thought, cutting into my lasagna, with cheese, meat, sauce, and extra bread.

The restaurant was filled with bored ladies politely tearing each other and their husband’s down. I was a fresh water fish in salt water. Margo wasn’t like these women. She met Charles in college, worked as hard as he did to make his career. Strip away the Prada and Gucci and she was just a girl from a farm in Texas somewhere no one had ever heard of.

“I’ve started my garden.” Margo was back.

“Forget the garden. What are you doing to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you contacted an attorney?”

“An attorney? God no. Do you think he has?”

“You’d know if he had.”

“People are like shoes, you know. You remember when I was in college. I was a strappy pair of heels. I was cute and sassy. Men were attracted to me. I could have my pick. Then Charles and I got married. We settled down. I became what he needed me to be sensible, intelligent, hardworking – yoga shoes. You think a doctor would appreciate a good pair of nurses’ shoes. But no, he takes up with a pair of trampy stelletto’s.

“Men are like that, they’d rather have a pair of vinyl shoes with a little extra silicone in the toes.” I was trying to stick with the shoe metaphor, but failed.

“What?”

Margo looked at me, brows wrinkled, frowning. She smiled, then laughed. Not fake laughter like that from the tables all around us, but real laughter.

Her blond curls tossed as she laughed. She was still cute, maybe not as sassy. I hope the old Margo was still in there.

“You can take the house.” I was trying to steer Margo towards reality.

“The house?”

“You can take the house in the country and Charles can take the apartment in the city.”

“No, I don’t want the house. I mean, I want the house. I don’t want a divorce.”

“But he’s cheating on you. You have to get a divorce. Everyone whose spouse cheats gets a divorce.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want a divorce.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t have to play by their rules. I can make up my own.”

Perhaps the old Margo was in there somewhere.

Don’t forget Mother’s Day

Don’t miss out on the Deals of the Day

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woman yellow dress

Imagine a world where the undead exist and you hope one side or the other will pick you to join them. What if the wrong side picked you?

Barb lay faced down on the pavement. Her warm blood flowing away from her like a river, carrying with it her life. She was helpless to do anything but watch. With a last shuttering gasp, blackness enveloped her.

“Hey lady, you okay?”

The smell of vomit and cheap liquor stung her nose. She gagged. Perhaps Barb had cheated death after all. She pulled herself up. The ugly gaping wound was still there. She could clearly see intestines, but there was no blood. Not a drop.

Her heart wasn’t beating. She wasn’t breathing.

“Oh geeze, not undead. Anything but zombie. This is certainly going to put a damper on my sex life. And the whole flesh eating things. I’m a vegetarian for gosh sakes. This isn’t going to work for me,” she yelled at no one in particular.

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cropped-99nnb.jpg

“My first mistake, falling in love with my enemy. My second, not killing him when I had the chance.” The first line of The Novel With No Name and hasn’t been started yet. What do you think?

I was challenged to try First Line Friday by Rami Ungart at https://ramiungarthewriter.wordpress.com/. Okay, Rami I accept your challenge.

You can play along at home. Here’s what you do.

  1. Create a post on your blog titled #FirstLineFriday, hashtag and all.
  2. Explain the rules like I’m doing now.
  3. Post the first one or two lines of a potential work, a work-in-progress, or a completed or published story.
  4. Ask your readers for feedback and then encourage them to try #FirstLineFriday on their blogs (tagging is encouraged but not necessary).

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Instead of writing, I’m writing a blog post about cleaning out the closet in my office.

First thing, the closet is filled with empty containers. No wonder I don’t have room for anything in here.  I next encountered three alarm clocks still in boxes, funny since I’m always late.

Just found my Gramms’ old photo album perfect distraction. I can flip through these for a while. Ah, my eyes! There’s a picture of my Gramms in her industrial brassiere and a man’s tie around her neck drinking whiskey from the bottle. No, it wasn’t taken yesterday, she looks about twenty. I see what Gramps was attracted to, but I wonder who’s taking the pciture?

Four beanie babies I’ll set those aside for the kidlings.

Cloth grocery bags I never take to the grocery store. Perfect for storing the twenty plus empty containers.

Something in a box from IKEA called Rationell. Don’t know what it is. The only picture on the box is of a man throwing away trash. Those Swedes are so neat. Opened it. Put it together. Still don’t know what it is. I’m using it to hold notebooks on my desk.

Lots of trash, extra wrapping paper. Huge matted balls of cables for who knows what. Pictures that were never hung.

Oh dang it, Blind Dog made off with one of the beanie babies. Think it was a grey dog. Too late, Blind Dog’s chewed the nose off.

My apologies to Blockbuster. Apparently you didn’t lose that movie several years ago. My bad.

That’s about it. Wait somethings in the very back. Okay, no clue how this got back there. Tucked in the very back behind the vacuum and several large pictures is a lasso, a green lasso.  I have absolutely no idea where that could have come from.

Check your closets. If you find a stray cowboy, send him round for his lasso.

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green coat toon

Random scene that played out in my head while I was trying to sleep.

Pam’s heels clicked on the tile floor. We were headed to the Friday morning staff meeting. A couple of interns almost broke their necks trying to catch a glance at Pam’s rear. She was the kind of woman who attracted attention.

“Heads up,” I whispered, “Danny’s wife is going to call you.”

Danny had only been married for six months.

“Me, why?”

“She found out Danny and I slept together a couple of years ago.”

It had only been twice on a business trip to Rio. I had obviously lost my mind.

“And that involves me why?”

“I had to throw you under the bus to get her off the phone.” Danny’s wife had turned out to be the jealous type.

“Really?” Pam was still as cool as ever.

We entered the still empty conference room. It was way too bright without coffee, which I would have had by now if I wasn’t answering phone calls from Danny’s wife.

“I told her Danny slept with you, Marcie and Barb.”

“He slept with Barb?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“Between you and Marcie.”

“Was he trying to make me jealous?”

“Yeap,” I chuckled.

“Huh, I didn’t notice.”

“That made it more fun to watch.” I slid into my customary seat and waited for the others to join us.

“She called me a slut,” I said, tapping my pen.

Pam laughed, not just chuckled, an outright laugh.

I continued, “Do you think I’m a slut?”

“You haven’t slept with a man in two years. That and a few Hail Mary’s and you’re practically a nun.”

Other consultants began piling in the room. The rest of this conversation would have to wait.

 

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