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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 10, 2020 10:31:19 GMT -6
The Worst Hangover by Adam Kluger He was pretty hung over.
So bad that he was burping into a glass of water. He hadnât noticed the waitress right away. She must have been new. It was wintertime. The morning after the Smart-TV Christmas Party.
Booger had secured the location for the station and he put together a very bad Christmas reel. The bureau chief cornered Booger at one point and asked what happened with the reelâŚwhy was it so lame? Booger was mortified and the only thing to do at that point was drink heavily. He ordered a shot of whiskey with a beer chaser and kept hitting the same number until the embarrassment gave way to stupor. He got home, smoked a bone, whacked off and went to sleep.
When he woke up in the morning his mouth was full of cotton and his stomach was doing somersaults. He threw on a coat and went across the street to âMy Most Terrific Dessert Company.â It was expensive but he could sit there order a soda and a croissant and feel a little better. The waitress moved across the floor like a ballerina. She was friendly too.
Very friendly, Booger thought.
âWhatâs your name?â
âItâs Claraâ
âAre you a dancer?â
âWhy yesâŚhow did you know?â
âWell, for one thing, you are standing en Pointe,â it was a trick Booger had picked up from dating dancers in the past. Like boxers they would stick their feet sideways instead of out front. Once a soldier always a soldier. Once a dancer always a dancer. He left her a $20 tip. The biggest tip in his life. He said goodbye and he bowed to her as he headed back home. Hit the can from both ends. Flushed and crashed on his bed. When he woke up it was dark outside his window.
Gotta love Saturdays.
The next day he got stoned and listened to The Doors and the Dead and made a pact with himself to forget the lame Christmas reel and focus on the future. The future to Booger, right now, was dancing across a restaurant floor across the street.
Monday morning. Booger dressed in a suit and long black coat with scarf. Walked into the restaurant and quickly sat down. He put his briefcase and another item on the chair next to him. Clara came by and quickly recognized Booger. Her delight when he said hello to her seemed genuine.
âFeeling better?â she asked him.
âLike a million bucksâŚyou look greatâ
âThank youâŚwhat can I get you?â
âJust coffee pleaseâ
âOne coffee coming right up.â
Booger went into his briefcase and studied his work notes. He had an early edit scheduled with his favorite editor Drew to turn a package on a British novelty music act that had scored a hit song on MusicTV with a silly tune about shaking your little tush on the catwalk. The week was looking up and Booger asked for the check by looking up and nodding at Clara. She danced over with a smile on her face.
âBy the way, thank you for that really generous tip the other day. No oneâs ever left me a twenty dollar tip beforeâ
âIt was my pleasure. You helped me survive the worst hangover of my life.â
Clara giggled.
Booger laid a fiver down and then reached underneath the table. He took the single red rose and handed it to Clara.
âThis is for youâŚI hope it's ok for me to give you thisâ
Clara seemed stunned and then a huge smile broke out across her delicate face. She had black hair in a cute page-boy style and she smelled like patchouli. Booger was smitten.
âWhat perfume are you wearing??? It has left me completely defenseless?â
Actually, Booger felt pretty strong at that moment.
âIts patchouli oilâŚIâm glad you like itâŚsome people canât stand itâŚâ
âI donât think Iâll be able to think of anything else for the rest of the dayâ
âThatâs very sweetâ
âSo Clara...time for the 64 million dollar questionâŚdo you have a boyfriend?â
âActually, yes I do.â
Boogerâs heart sank.
âBut we just recently broke upâŚitâs kind of weird right nowâŚand you seem pretty niceâŚâ
She handed Booger her phone number on a blank green receipt. CLARA and a phone number underneath. Even her handwriting was charming. Booger took it, nodded, stuck it in his pocket and said; âThanks, are you free for dinner tonight?â Stay tuned ~ đ |
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Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 11, 2020 5:34:00 GMT -6
Things are looking up for Booger  |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 12, 2020 11:27:02 GMT -6
Oooooh YES!!
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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 12, 2020 11:35:51 GMT -6
âSureâŚI get off of work at sixâŚif you want to meet me hereâ âIâll see you thenâŚâ He looked her in the eyes. He liked what he saw. The older lady who owned the restaurant looked on. Booger grabbed his briefcase and walked out the door with the scent of patchouli oil and Claraâs angelic smile on his mind. Bus, subway, office. Morning meeting, edit session, shoot for News with a political expert discussing the latest oval office indiscretions, some phone calls, a bull session or two with Chick about the weekend show. And then it was time, finally, to head back to pick up Clara at the restaurant. Booger was funny and charming and he took her to a romantic, cozy little French bistro a short walk away. Booger couldnât take his eyes off her. Claraâs positive energy was electrifying. Booger sat in his chair tingling all over. After dinner they took a short walk. Booger resisted the urge to kiss her. âDonât do itâ he told himself⌠hold backâŚlet her be the one to initiate itâŚshe already knows how much you like herâŚhold back...she must know you find her adorable the way you look at her and she must pick up the exquisite yearning feeling that is wracking your body like you were in high school all over again. âPlease let me pay for your cab.â âOh, you donât have to do that.â âI insist.â It was coming. She spun around and put her hands on both sides of Boogerâs face and then kissed him so beautifully on the lips that Booger was speechless. They smiled at each other and then Booger went toward her for another kiss. This time, she opened her mouth and slowly, languorously, and with a total sense of presence in the moment, passionately French-kissed Booger. They stood there making out for about a minute. Thankfully, the cab driver saw what was going on and didnât honk or do anything obnoxious to ruin the moment. Booger reached into his pocket peeled off another $20 and handed it through the front window to the driver. âPlease take very good care of this passenger and please get her home safe.â Booger was the gentleman. Clara smiled and seemed to appreciate the gesture. Booger didnât care that she was a waitress. He was a worker ant at a different factory. She twinkled at him and thanked him for a wonderful night. âI feel the same wayâŚIâll call you tomorrow.â The next day he called and there was no return call. The following day he walked by the restaurant and looked through the window. He walked in. âExcuse me, is Clara here this morning?â âWho?â âThe attractive waitress with the short black hair and beautiful smile?â âOh...noâŚshe doesnât work here on WednesdaysâŚshe works at this bar near Penn Station.â Booger knew the place. It was an Irish bar near Smart TV. Later that day on his lunch break, Booger decided to surprise Clara at the Irish Bar. When he met her there she smiled brightly and asked him how he knew to find her there. âAround these parts a mere scrap of information can mean a manâs life.â âIâm sorry but I canât really talk right now they are pretty strict here, and the bartender is a friend of my old boyfriend so it would be kind of awkward if he sees us talking.â Booger felt relieved to hear her say âoldâ boyfriend. âSorry to pop in on youâŚI work a few blocks away and I was on my lunch hourâ Booger actually never had a lunch hour. He just grabbed a bite whenever his hectic schedule permitted. âI just wanted you to know how much I enjoyed our date the other night particularly the end of it outside the cabâ âI know what you mean Craig, Iâve been thinking about you all dayâ Booger smiled. Maybe after all the messed up one night stands and short lived relationships he had found a girl that would be the one. She made him feel so utterly alive...maybe he was in loveâŚmaybe it was the patchouli oil and her smile maybe it was that kiss. âThanks for visiting me...Iâve got to get back to my tablesâ Booger smiled and nodded and walked out the door testing the sidewalk outside to make sure his legs would carry him all the way back to work. When he called her answering machine later that night, he got a strange message. âHi this is IleneâŚIâm not home.â What? Why did she tell me her name was Clara? And now her answering machine said:âHi this is Ilene...Iâm not home.â uh oh - Stay tuned ~ đ |
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Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 13, 2020 5:54:47 GMT -6
Oops! A mysterious twist ...
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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 13, 2020 11:56:08 GMT -6
Uh-huh!!
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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 13, 2020 12:12:38 GMT -6
Ilene? What the hell was that? He didnât leave a message. She wasnât at work the next day. Booger started to feel desperate and confused. What did it mean? Was Clara her stage name? Why did she seem a bit uncomfortable at the Irish bar? Was she still seeing the old boyfriendâŚwas he still seeing ILENE? It all started to make sense and it was a horrible feeling. Booger felt like he had been punched in the stomach. The perfect romance story was starting to feel like a psychological thriller with a weird and unhappy ending. When he saw her the following week he had walked by the restaurant as he had done every day until then, peeking in to see her. She waved. He was looking good. Inside he felt torn upâŚtortured and confusedâŚsuch drama and mystery. Booger imagined a tattooed Irish hoodlum watching his every move from across the streetâŚlike in the moviesâŚSeamus MuldooneyâŚready to show this fancy boy in the suit and tie how we do things in Hellâs Kitchen when you try to steal a fellerâs girl⌠âHey Ilene. Whatâs up?â Claraâs face froze. âI guess I should explain.â Booger was heartbroken. âNo need toâŚI pretty much figured it out.â âNo, itâs not what you think.â Booger was pretty sure it was exactly what he thought it was. She was still seeing the âoldâ boyfriend and she had given Booger a fake name. Booger had to appreciate the drama, mystery and imagination this girl possessed. âMy real name is IleneâŚbut I sometimes also go by Claraâ âWhy? Are you wanted for murder in three states?â Booger looked in her eyes...he saw embarrassment. UmâŚnot reallyâŚâ âSo, youâre still seeing your old boyfriend.â âYeahâŚI guess we are stillâŚâ Booger felt his heart drop once again like a boulder in the ocean. âBut I really like you CraigâŚitâs just kind of messy right now.â âI understand ClaraâŚmy good friends call me Shaka Zulu instead of CraigâŚâ âReally?â âActually, no they call me âBoogerâ.â âReally? âŚthatâs a funny nickname⌠howâd you get it?â âIn collegeâŚmy last name is Bugowski⌠one day a friend called me Booger and it just kind of stuck.â ââŚwasnât that a character in Revenge of the Dorks, the guy who picked his noseâŚâ âOh yeah thatâs another thing ...I like to pick my nose all the time.â âI donât believe you âŚyouâre just being sillyâ âI guess soâŚsoâŚuhâŚwhere does this leaveâŚus?â âWell, Iâm working a double; if you want you can pick me up after work and we can get a drinkâ âAre you sure thatâs ok?â âYeah âŚIâm sureâ She started to twinkle again. âBy the way do you want me to call you Clara or Irene?â âWhatever you like.â âOk, Iâll think about it.â He left the restaurant. Bus, subway, work. Asked Chick what he thought of the whole mystery and drama and Chick laughed and told him; âLooks like you picked a real winner there Romeoâ Booger didnât feel like a winner. He felt like he had a ticket for the second place prize, a lifetime supply of, âIâm still seeing my old boyfriend, a**hole, but thanks for the 20 bucks and the roseâ When he picked her up they went back across the street to Boogerâs bachelor pad. They made out passionately and one more time Booger felt that amazing tingle of mystery and danger mixed with patchouli oil and lies. He would leave messages on her answering machine for a week until she finally called him back. âSorry, Iâve been really busyâŚbut Iâd love to see you tonightâŚwhy you donât come to my place I have a surprise for youâ It could have been a severed head on a stick or a home cooked meal, Booger had no clue, he just knew that he wanted her more than he had ever wanted a girl. All the cat and mouse had aroused and startled him. When he got to her apartment it was a dingy walk-up. He rang the bell half expecting to see a gun pointed at his face. What he saw was a candle lit room. Clara or Irene, whatever her name was, came out wearing a black fishnet body suit. It was sexy as hell and Booger or Craig or whatever she felt like calling him didnât need an engraved invitation. He savored making love to her and kissing her and smelling that patchouli oil as he marveled at her beautiful, pale, perfectly shaped body. He was stoned so he lasted a while. He couldnât sleep over though because he had to be at work very early the next day. It was a âhappy endingâ to a rocky relationship. When she didnât return his calls for the next week and a half, He knew she had gone back to her other boyfriend for good. Thatâs ok, Booger told himself. At least there was that one night. She had helped him recover from the worst hangover in his life and she woke him up to the fact that telling the truth is important or some such other lesson or moral. Whatever. He would trade away all that valuable knowledge just to be able to kiss her again and again. Some years later he would find her name and number on that old green receipt. She would pick up the phone and say âHello?â in that same sweet, melodic voice. After an awkward silence, Booger heard a baby crying in the background. He quickly hung up. Walked over to his window and looked out at New York City in the dark orange haze. He could make out homeless squatters perched on public property and a garbage truck gliding down glittery garbage stained asphalt. The end đ |
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Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 14, 2020 6:50:40 GMT -6
A happy ending with sadness; good story writing.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 15, 2020 12:03:16 GMT -6
That's true, Rick, but it happens a lot in real life.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 15, 2020 13:50:16 GMT -6
36. A kiss is but a kiss by Karan Mummigatti
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Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 16, 2020 6:06:54 GMT -6
This was well thought out  |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 17, 2020 11:19:25 GMT -6
I enjoyed this one. It had an unexpected turn at the end.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 17, 2020 11:35:43 GMT -6
37. For Mike by Geoff Aird The garden was overrun with wild grass and tenacious weeds had pushed up through the crazy paving. Apt description, I thought as my view followed the path on its meandering journey from the back door to near the bottom of the garden. It then branched into two then set off again to surround the small flourishing orange grove.
ââHola! Beunos dias.ââ The old woman was peering over the stone dyke wall and into my garden.
ââHolaâŚ..eh,âŚmorning, Senora,ââ I replied but she was already making her way to the wicket gate, her grey shawl bobbing along the top of the wall like a shipâs sail on a distant horizon.
The fact that I barely spoke a word of Spanish mattered not a jot to this woman. Iâd first met her a couple of days after Iâd moved in. Sheâd introduced herself when I was cleaning the windows at the front of the cottage. Then she appeared at the stone dyke wall a few days later. I didnât know what she was saying but she concluded each sentence by nodding her head and smiling. Then the following day she just strolled into the back garden chattering away in Spanish! She was carrying a wicker basket and walked up to me whilst pointing at the orange trees and said ââMuchas de las naranjas, si.ââ
ââYes, ehâŚoranges, yes. Si Senora,ââ I had replied. It was true. The trees were laden with oranges and many of them had fallen onto the wild grass underneath. She then announced ââVoy a hacerte una mermelada!ââ
I guessed the word marmalade was in there so I had nodded vigorously and said ââYes of course you can. Yes.ââ With that sheâd strode down to the trees and began filling the basket with oranges. Then with a cheery wave she was away! Like sheâd known me for years! It didnât seem to matter that I was a complete stranger, a foreigner in fact who only took up residence here a few weeks earlier.
I wonder what Ruth would have made of it? I had thought at the time. Ruth, my beautiful wife had succumbed to breast cancer six months earlier. Ruth, my childhood sweetheart, lover, and soul mate. Sheâd fought it of course, but then she would. She was a fighter with a big heart. But it became clear that she wasnât going to win this one. Ruth and I had been born on the same day and she made such an effort to hang on so we could share our fortieth birthday together. It was hardly a birthday bash. Just a few close friends round, some nibbles and drinks but Ruth was so drugged up that the occasion seemed to slip by her in a haze.
The next day she had seemed surprisingly chirpy and even suggested fish and chips for tea from the chip shop in town. Sheâd said ââCancerâs like pregnancy, Mike. You develop strange cravings!ââ I had read this as a good sign. Maybe her appetite was returning? Maybe she was on the mend? Later, as I was standing in the queue waiting to be served I felt a growing feeling of uneasiness. It had unsettled me. Iâd ran out the shop and dashed home, bursting through the front door and calling out her name as I ran up the stairs.
She lay across the bed. An empty bottle of pills were on the bedside table, next to a note. She didnât want to fight anymore. And she didnât want the cancer to dictate when she was going to die. Her note ended with
So Iâm choosing eternal sleep and will dream of you constantly, my gorgeous, wonderful husband. The love of my life. In time it is my wish that you can move on.
Cancer. I couldnât actually say the word out loud. Watching her deteriorate and suffer had nearly destroyed me. Cancer, the ultimate parasite. It chooses a host then sets to work on it. Itâs not infectious. Itâs not contagious. Itâs not a threat to anyone else. It exists to live off, then kill off its host. And in killing its host it kills itself.
And I had moved on. A few months later, despite protests and concern from family and friends Iâd sold up and moved here to this small, white washed village in the province of Seville. A few mornings later the old lady entered the garden and approached me as I sat reading at the wooden trestle table. I beckoned her to sit down. She chose the bench seat opposite me and, once sheâd made herself comfortable, retrieved a jar of marmalade and a loaf of uncut bread from her basket and laid them on the table.
ââMermelada!ââ she exclaimed, excitedly. I smiled and went to the kitchen, returning with a bread knife, two plates and two mugs of coffee.
ââCafĂŠ con leche!ââ I exclaimed, pleased with my pronunciation. The old lady cut two thick slices off the loaf then removed the paper lid which had been held onto the jar with an elastic band. Finally, she smeared the thick orange marmalade onto the two slices of bread and passed one to me. We ate in comfortable silence. Suddenly the memory of companionship caused a lump to form in my throat. I looked down as a wave of grief overcame me. The old ladyâs rough, calloused hands moved across the table to cover my own. Her face had an expression of understanding and compassion. She didnât speak but nodded slowly which somehow soothed me as she rubbed her course fingers across the back of my hands. Salty tears slipped down my face and I nodded slowly in silent acknowledgement.
It wasnât until sheâd left and I was clearing the table that I noticed the paper lid that had covered the marmalade jar. I picked it up and smiled. On it the old lady had written
âFor Mike.â
I lay awake a long time that night thinking about Ruth. Smiling through tears as I remembered our countless little private jokes. Then I slept and dreamt deeply and vividly. We were at home in the evening and it was peaceful. I was watching her reading a book. I was thinking God, I really love you when she suddenly looked up and caught my gaze. Slow, knowing smiles broke across our faces. Ruth had a repertoire of smiles and this was the vulnerable, lop-sided one that always made me feel so protective of her.
Iâd kept a long, pink ribbon, its colour a recognised symbol of defiance against the cancerous invader. After breakfast the next day I retrieved it from a âyet to be unpackedâ trolley bag and went out to the garden. Under a brilliant blue white sky I followed the pathâs meandering journey down to the orange grove. There were six trees; four almost identical in size and shape were huddled together and off to one side a larger tree with a smaller one in its shadow. This stunted treeâs main bough had grown out in an unusual angle in order to receive sunlight from under the larger treeâs canopy and had a, kind of, lop-sided look about it. I tied the ribbon tightly round the trunk of this little fighter then slowly retraced my steps to the cottage.
Time heals all and today the hurt began to fade. The End ~ đ |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 17, 2020 11:36:44 GMT -6
The magic and healing powers of a simple kindness can be amazing.
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Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 18, 2020 6:00:36 GMT -6
Oh yes, definitely; a heart warming story.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 18, 2020 13:34:17 GMT -6
I loved this one, Rick.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 18, 2020 13:45:26 GMT -6
38. Rainy Windows by Alissa West Mike watched the rain droplets roll down the driverâs side window. The small drops beginning at the top slowly joined more droplets, eventually creating one single raindrop to travel down the window. A smile stretched across his face as he remembered the days of riding in the back seat of his parentsâ car, choosing raindrops to win in races down the window.
Reclining his seat back, Mike stared further out the window, past the raindrops towards the small blue house on the corner. He watched as lights turned on and off in different windows, assuming it must be Sarah finishing getting ready. Memories flooded Mikeâs mind as he sat, eyes closed, listening to the rain. Images of Sarah running to the car in her shorts and tank tops were his favorite. She was always the most energetic in the summer. Winter was usually the funniest to watch when he would drive to her house to pick her up. She could never make it to the car without slipping on her sidewalk and usually spent the rest of the night laughing at herself.
Mike opened his eyes to check the front door. Still no Sarah. He glanced at the passengerâs seat and picked up a few coffee cups he had stashed on the seat. He always loved seeing her sit there. Around people, she is the quietest person Mike knows, but when she sits in that seat, she could talk for hours. He wouldnât have it any other way. Mike finally saw movement out of the corner of his eye and he turned to see Sarah close the door and walk towards the car. Her body seemed stiff as she took quick steps and kept her arms crossed at her chest. Concerned, Mike leaned across the car towards the passenger door and popped it open. Without eye contact, Sarah slid inside.
âHey, are you okay?â Mike asked.
âCan we just drive for a bit,â Sarah said quietly. Mike stared at her for a moment as she remained still in her seat. He finally shrugged and drove off down the road.
The two sat in silence for what seemed like years. Mike couldnât read her. Her body was clenched up and her arms were still crossed. She watched out the window and sniffed about every five minutes. Mike reached over and placed his hand on her knee. âYou can talk to me, you know.â he said. âWe havenât been dating for four years for you to not talk to me when somethingâs wrong.â
She turned towards Mike, tears streaming down her face. âWeâre moving.â Her sniffs became sobs as she buried her face in her hands. Mike watched as the strong women heâs come to know fell apart in the seat next to him. He quickly pulled the car over and took a deep breath, thinking of what to say next.
âWhere to?â he asked as he rubbed her back. Her sobs grew harder and Mike leaned back, knowing he probably asked the wrong question. As she calmed down, Sarah wiped the mascara smeared under her eyes and caught her breath.
âCalifornia,â she said, still sniffling. â2,237 miles away.â
Mikeâs heart sank and questions built up in his head. They talked about their future together: getting married, starting a family, building a house. âMy dad got a really good job offer there. Itâs a nice neighborhood I guess. And my mom said we could get a dog if we wanted,â she said, trying to fight back more tears. That was the Sarah Mike knew. Even in the worst situation, she always tried to be positive. He sighed. How could I even live without her, he thought. Mike searched solutions. He glanced out the window to watch the droplets again. He saw multiple form together and move down the window, rolling off the car. An idea slowly grew in his mind. They had to be together. There wasnât another option. They had to do whatever would work.
âMarry me,â Mike said, turning to face Sarah. Her crying stopped and silence filled the car again.
âWhat?â she whispered.
âSarah, will you marry me?â
Her eyes grew large as she held her breath. She shifted back in her seat and folded her hands in her lap. Mike was okay with the silence. He wanted her to think this through. It was a big decision. He noticed her eyes light up while she turned to him.
âYes,â her smile was the biggest he had ever seen it. Mike couldnât help but let out a laugh of relief as he reached over and hugged her. He held her as she dug her face in his chest and laughed through tears. He grinned as he looked around his car again. The sound of the rain was comforting and calming. He gave Sarah a small squeeze, holding tight to the love of his life. Another memory added to this car, he thought. The End. ~đ |
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Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 19, 2020 6:55:49 GMT -6
A supremely romantic end to this story  |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 20, 2020 7:10:49 GMT -6
Dear Harold by Lorin Lee Cary Dear Harold, It was real good to see you the other night. Not many guys would have bought a girl pretzels on a first date. To me it was a real sign of you. Like a statement, I guess you would say. Anyway, I think you should not be too embarrassed because your fly stuck open at the dance. I don't think people noticed. They looked at you and laughed because of that funny joke you told I am sure. I felt bad you had to explain it three times to those dummies at our table. But some folks just are not too swift you know. Thank you too for your real sweet apology. I have to admit I have never danced with a man who sweat so much. And you are right. It was uncomfortable when it rolled down my shoulder. But a strapless dress is a risk and I do appreciate your concern. You also don't have to worry about how the corsage got pinned. It didn't go too deep and the dress is washable. Cold water works wonders. You are an unusual man, Harold. I have never known anyone like you before. I think sometimes people do not appreciate eccentricity for the gift that it is. Doing rumba moves to that waltz might be frowned on in some circles, but believe me it sets a person apart. Also, I have to say I enjoyed the special effort you made to make the evening magic. I really did not mind changing the tire, so please don't worry about that. I know you couldnât see that Don't-Back-Up sign because of how fogged up your glasses got. Well, Harold, I'm running out of time. And of things to say. It's not often I do this with someone after only one date, believe me. When your hardware convention comes to town again, please look me up. Your friend, Roseanne Dear Harold, It was nice of you to send me the can of mixed nuts and I only hope youâre not making some sort of statement about me and my friends. Knowing you, however, that is not likely so I guess it is just me. In any case, I should know by now that this is just right in keeping with the you of you, as my friend Swami Phil says. Iâm real sorry to hear that the tie I gave you got caught in the key making machine. I cannot believe people laughing at you about that, Harold. It is a shame they do not know you the way I do. Did you like the box of chocolates I sent? I look forward to your visit. Hugs, Roseanne Dear Harold, Gosh, if I had known that your were allergic to macadamia nuts I would never have sent that particular can to you. Has the swelling gone down? Is the rash still there? People can be so cruel laughing because your scalp got bigger and the toupee wouldnât fit right. Well I must go. Love, Roseanne. Dear Harold, When you donât write I think it is because you are angry. And if you are not then you should say so. I liked the camping trip although it upset me that you forgot the tent poles and that the branches poked a hole in the side. Telling me the warranty would cover the damage after it started to rain did not make me feel better. I have always said you were different, Harold, and you are. All the best, Roseanne Dear Harold, It has been a long time since I have written, I know, but I have my reasons. Like I told you when I drove you that extra 100 miles to the airport because you could get a cheaper flight from there, that about did me in. Iâve come to feel youâre taking advantage of me. Now it was nice of you to give me the canned ham at the airport and all, but as I told you before itâs against my religion. Sometimes it seems you donât listen to a thing I say. Iâm going to a doctor here, well a counselor, and she says every person in the world, how many ever that is, has a different way of looking at things. But I donât think you understand that because thinking back I recall that when I say something mostly you say âah haâ and then keep on as if I said nothing. Which really is not the way it is supposed to be. Thank you for the fruitcake. But, Harold, if you send presents you ought to examine the package. I found a note in it from your Aunt Mildred written three years ago saying Merry Christmas. Iâve concluded that you are so different as to be weird, something some of my friends have said for a long time. The truth is I am fed up. So goodbye. Roseanne, PS: I loved you The End ~ đ |
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Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 20, 2020 12:57:15 GMT -6
Wow, she tried longer than most girls would have ... he is really weird and clueless!
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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 21, 2020 23:43:46 GMT -6
Yep!! He had his chances. He really blew it.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 21, 2020 23:54:49 GMT -6
40. The Pill by Charlotte Hayden I say to him âI thought you liked orange juice with the bits in itâ and he says âNo I like orange juice without the bits in itâ and as itâs only been 45 minutes since he told me he bumped into Kate last night and she looked âpretty sexyâŚlike some kind of, you know, hostessâ, I take his glass of orange juice (with the bits in it) and I throw it across the room so it hits the corner of his wooden bed frame and smashes across the floor. Iâm glad the little pieces of glass fly in all kinds of directions so I can only hope that he tramples on a chunk. I leave his stupid shared house, full of arrogant pigs, and I storm home to think about what I can do next.
I sit on my bed to gather my furious thoughts and then I hear an annoying, high pitched, buzzing sound coming from my dvd player. I consider throwing it out the window but itâs too heavy and I donât want to make a mess. I pull the plug out and in a state of exaggerated rage I carry it to a charity shop. The sweaty and slightly overweight guy in the charity shop says âThanks for your donationâ and I go home, change my bed sheets and feel much better for 3 minutes. Then I think about smashing up everything in my kitchen but again, I donât want to make a mess.
I think about running away but I canât find the right shoes. I take my phone and I scream to him, at the top of my text message voice, âI WISH IâD NEVER MET YOU!â and he doesnât even flinch. I decide Iâm not going outside for at least a week and I donât have the right shoes anyway. I look at my wonderful television and my television says to me âStay here with me and Iâll make you feel betterâ. I say to my television âBut I love himâ and my television says to me âI know. But you can love me now and you donât even have to brush your hairâ.
Iâm seated at a table next to a loud, cocky music journalist who says heâs just finished working with Kayne West and I laugh but he says heâs serious and I laugh again. He says he likes my purse and then I let him buy me a couple of drinks. He keeps looking at me and talking to me as if he wants to sleep with me and the more he tells me about how much he doesnât get on with his family, the more I think I may as well. Then, I donât know why, perhaps itâs because weâre at a wedding, but I spend a few (quite painful) minutes telling him the story of when I was 8 years old and I brought my favourite Barbie into school for Show and Tell. I say, âSo I told the class that Iâd dressed her in yellow⌠because I was happy my dad was coming home for the weekend and then afterwards the boys teased me for bringing a doll to school! Anyway I was so confused so I said to this one boy, his name was Thomas, I said âThomas! Why donât you love me?â which I know is a bit crazy but I was only a kid but you know what he did? That little bastard started crying⌠uncontrollably and he was shouting that I was weird and I couldnât believe it so I put my lunchbox down, I remember it was a Nellie the Elephant one, and I pushed him over in the middle of that playground and you know what I said? I said to him âNEVER hold my hand OR GEMMAâS HAND ever againâ Gemma was nice and everything but I remember I was fed up of her getting all the boys all the timeâ. The music journalist looks at me like Iâm mad and then thereâs the brideâs speech, the groomâs speech, the best manâs speech and the father of the brideâs speech and everyone claps. And then the music journalist looks at me like he doesnât want to sleep with me anymore and Iâm glad because I think heâs awful really and I donât want to sleep with someone whoâs awful because in the end I donât want to marry someone I think is awful.
Yet when Iâm home I write a letter to my Pill and I say to my Pill âMake me beautiful!â and my Pill writes back (taking the key points) âI canât make you beautiful. I can only try to stop those boys from impregnating youâ. I think itâs typical of my Pill to say this. It expects me to take it at the same time every day but in return it canât 100% promise anything and I find this very frustrating. If I canât trust my Pill then who can I trust?
Iâve been here before and the doctor says to me âIs there a chance youâre pregnant?â I say âWell yes, thereâs always a chance isnât there?â and the doctor says âSorry? Do you think you may be pregnant?â I say âNo. I havenât had sex in a long timeâ and the doctorâs computer asks me if Iâm okay and if I want a hug and I tell the computer that Iâm okay. The doctor looks at me as if Iâm supposed to tell him about my whole life in eleven minutes. The End ~ đ |
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Post by lostineternity99 on Apr 22, 2020 5:49:44 GMT -6
This story was way out there; I liked it |
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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 22, 2020 11:11:25 GMT -6
I Agree Rick. It was out there.
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Post by QueenFoxy on Apr 22, 2020 11:32:37 GMT -6
41. Fairy Charmed Life
by James Manning
Sarah saw her grandfather in the back yard welding a 55-gallon drum. She knew thatâs where she could find him and it would be hard to pry him away. But it was Sunday and this was her time to spend with him, and like every Sunday, she wanted to hear him tell a story. In her eyes, he was the greatest story teller in the world. He took her to unbelievable places. Walks on the beach in southern Spain; hunting lions on the planes of Africa; and once they took a space ride across two galaxies. âHi grandpa,â she said excitedly. She skipped towards him until she was standing a few feet away. âItâs Sunday. You know what that means?â Grandpa sat the torch down. âYes I do sweetie. Itâs story time.â He smiled at her and slowly stood up. The years had been good time him but crouching down was still a chore for old bones. âWhere are we going today?â she asked. âWell, I have a special story to tell you. Câmon, letâs get some lemonade.â They walked into the kitchen. Grandpa poured the lemonade. Sarah watched eagerly wondering when he would start the story. They never began the same way. Sometimes heâd start with Once upon a time and other times heâd talk for 15 minutes before she realized everything heâd said was part of the story. âI want to tell you the story of someone really special. Youâre at that age where I think youâd enjoy a love story.â âLove story? Like a princess?â âYes. Yes, it is the story of a princess.â He sat at the table and began the story: We live in a world where technology gives us an opportunity to make connections in ways our ancestors couldnât even imagine. At any moment in time one can engage with another soul thousands of miles away on levels once thought possible only with science fiction. It has made the world so much smaller; made it possible to be closer from distances and time zones that would be miraculous if not for the ubiquitous nature of the technology that drives it. And anytime you make it possible for people to connect, you make love a possibility. Now, there will be those who say you canât possibly love through technology, that humans still must have a physical connection in order for love to fully blossom. But we know that is not true. The reasons fairytales are so popular is because in caters to the imagination that all things are possible. Today, there are love stories playing out across oceans, mountain ranges and time zones. This story is about one of those. It actually started off innocence enough. A few mentions on social media and they connected. The problem was she was far apart. So for a long time they kept things casual between them. They supported one another when the other was down. They created this entire world where only the two of them dwelled. It was an easy relationship; an easy friendship. They joked and laughed easily with one another. Youâll discover one day that there are two things you can do with a person that draws you near them: laugh and cry. Laughter opens you to the pleasure of their company. Being able to cry with someone gives someone access to your vulnerabilities. And if they do not judge or take advantage of either, then you have someone special. One day they decided that it was time to meet. He went online to research the best places in the world and he chose Paris. Yes, they would meet in Paris⌠the City of Lights. This would be their first time together so he planned every little detail. He wanted it to be special. But mostly, he wanted to know if it was love orâŚ. âOr diarrhea.â Sarah interjected. She laughed at her own joke and her ability to contribute to the story. Grandpa laughed with her. âYes, sometimes itâs just that as well.â He said. âOk, so they go to Paris. You took me to Paris too.â âYes I did,â grandpa replied. âBut this is little different.â âContinue then.â He landed in the afternoon in Paris and took a cab to the hotel. What beautiful hotel it was. It had large arch doorways. The hotel lobby contained antique French furniture and large Persian rugs. There were two huge chandeliers hanging in the great hall. When they took him to his room, as soon as he walked in he was greeted by a large window that framed the Eifel Tower. This was perfect he thought. Outside of the bedroom window was Juliet balcony. âWhatâs a Juliet balcony?â Sarah asked. âItâs like a fake balcony. You really canât stand on it.â âSo whatâs the point?â âShhhhh⌠letâs continue with the story.â He sat in the room waiting. He was nervous. This moment would define the rest of his life and there was an element of fear inside him. Thatâs when he heard the knock on the door. He walked over to the door and there she stood. She was more beautiful than he imagined. He saved every picture she ever gave him but they paled in comparison to the woman standing before him. She wore a sleeveless black dress and fell just above he knees. He could tell she was a bit hesitant. What did she think of me, he kept asking himself? He found out because she reached out to touch his face, her thumb touch the corner of his eye, and she slowly ran her hand down until her hands lay on his shoulder. She reached in and kissed him. ~ đ |
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