Taking a random photograph from Flickr and weaving a short story around it. It’s Picture Fiction!
“Dude, I swear to you, I’m not lying.”
Ben waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever man. I can never believe what you tell me.”
Jon faked a wounded look.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Ben chastised. “Remember Cindi?” His eyebrows arched like parenthesis turned on their sides.
Jon winced. “That was a joke, man. I didn’t lie to you, per se, it was simply an omission of truth. I swear I had no idea Cindi was dating that big ass wrestler guy.”
“Uh huh,” Ben nodded, not looking convinced.
“Anyway, I’m not lying this time. Amber and Tina invited us over Friday night. We’re supposed to be at their house around 10ish with a 12 pack in hand.”
‘Who did you talk to, exactly?”
“Amber.”
“Ha! I knew it! Amber wouldn’t talk to you, EVER, cause she can’t STAND your ass. She thinks you’re all immature and stuff.”
Jon placed a hand over his heart. “Kill me, dude. She said that?”
Ben just shrugged.
“I swear, if I’m lyin’ then I’m dyin. Call her up, ask her for yourself?”
“And make a total ass out of myself? No way, man. I like this Amber. I’d like to take her OUT. If I call and you’re totally bogeying me then I’ve blown my chance.”
“What can I do to convince you I’m not shittin’ you?”
Ben turned away.
“Ok, OK! You’ve reduced me to extreme measures. I’m gonna tear my Levi’s, my FAVORITE jeans man, to prove to you I’m not lying.”
“Whatever, dude. You’re nuts.”
“No, really! I’m gonna do it!” Jon plops down in Ben’s computer chair. “Seriously, I will.”
“I’ve known you since fourth grade, Jon. I ain’t falling for your….”
Jon grabs a pair of scissors from Ben’s desk drawer and snips the cuff on his right pant leg.
Ben laughs and shakes his head. “Bro, you’re crazy.”
“Believe me?” Jon taunts.
“No way.”
“Fine.” Jon grabs the edge of his pant leg and begins pulling. He continues to tug on the material winding the piece around and around his leg. He triumphantly holds up a long strip of denim. “Believe me now?”
Ben laughs and shakes his head. “Your mom is going to kill you man. All right, we’ll go.”
Jon grins. “Cool dude, now loan me some money for new jeans.”
You can find a ton of writing prompts at Write Anything.
Writing prompt: Write a story/poem about fatherhood with a doctor as the main character and a mug as the key object. Set your story/poem in a garden.
_________________________
“Why is this nasty thing sitting in front of me?” Dr. Mike Samuels stared at the misshapen, yellow and purple polka-dotted mug on his expensive fifty-dollar place mat.
“Would you keep your voice down?” Mike’s wife, Lori, glanced anxiously around the garden to see if anyone heard him.
“No, seriously. What is it doing here?”
Lori sighed and looked over her shoulder. Their six-year old daughter was happily chatting away with her friends at the kiddie table. “Shyla made that for you for Father’s Day.”
“Okay. But why do I have to use it now? In front of the entire hospital board?”
Lori spoke slowly between gritted teeth and attempted to keep her voice light and cheery. “Because, your daughter wanted to surprise you. And you wouldn’t want to disappoint your daughter AGAIN, now would you?”
“I have no problem with that.”
Lori’s eyes narrowed and she glared at him. “You’re a prick, you know that?” She had a plastic smile pasted on her face and by the tone of her voice, a neighboring diner would never guess at the hostility seeping from her every pore.
“I’m not using this mug, Lori. It’s ugly and disgusting.”
“Sort of like our marriage,” she replied and instantly changed her entire demeanor as Mike’s boss appeared behind her husband.
“Lovely party, Lori. You always throw the best garden shindigs.” He issued a low-rumbling chuckle.
“Why thank you, George. I do try.” Her smile was warm and friendly; her eyes sparkled with tension.
George clapped Mike on the back. “So, old man. Are you ready for …” He paused and both Mike and Lori looked up at him. “What is that?” He nodded his salt-and-pepper hair toward the mug.
“Oh … that,” Mike began.
Lori interrupted brightly. “Shyla made that for him for Father’s day at school. She worked very hard on it.” She gave her husband a warning look.
George chuckled. “Ah, I remember those days. It seems like another lifetime ago I was forced to drink out of leaky clay mugs and pretend it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.”
Mike scowled. Lori chuckled.
“Actually,” Mike began.
“Shyla’s teacher said she worked on this mug for hours. She said she was so excited that she could hardly paint the flowers …”
“Is that what those are?” Mike asked incredulously. He dropped his head and peered at the mug more closely.
Lori kicked him under the table but kept her facial expression sunny and pleasant.
George laughed and again slapped Mike on the back. “I’d suggest a napkin, old boy, or you’ll most likely end up with a wet lap from the leaks.”
They both snickered as he moved off to talk to the people at the next table.
Mike’s smile immediately dropped as soon as his boss’ back was turned. “I’m not using this mug, Lori. It’s embarrassing.”
She wrung the expensive linen napkin with her hands and without looking at him, muttered under her breath, “Mike Samuels, you will use that mug and you will pretend to like it. I’m sick and tired of the way you shrug our daughter, and this whole fatherhood thing off.” She took a deep breath, blinked back the tears and waved cheerfully at Shyla. “You don’t pay attention to her, you don’t act like a father at all. You’re so wrapped up in your career …”
Mike bristled. “A career that buys you expensive linen napkins, I might add …”
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “ … that you never have time for us anymore. And when you’re here, you’re not here because you’re too tired to give us the time of day. Well you know what? I’ve had it. I’m not going to continue to walk on pins and needles around you anymore. I’m tired of drying Shyla’s tears because of your inattention.” She released a shaky breath, “When this party is over, so is our marriage.”
Writing Prompt:
Write about an argument between two people. Your definition of people can be as loose as you want it to be.
Brace yourselves, this is edgy stuff. 🙂
By the way, this is fictional and didn’t really happen.
Or did it? 😉
_________________________
“Yeah! Hang on a sec honey, let me check my emails.”
Karen curled a leg under her and sat down in her brown, and slightly stained, computer chair. She clicked on her Yahoo email box and was surprised to see five messages from someone called LabelGrl. She clicked on the oldest first.
“Hi Karen! Love your blog! Look, I have a question. Could you sign onto your Yahoo Messenger account so we can talk?”
“How did this girl know about my Messenger account?” Karen mumbled under her breath. She proceeded to check the remaining four messages but they all asked the same thing, only the way it was asked changed slightly.
“Uh, okay. Sure, I’ll bite.” Karen signed onto her account and proceeded to check the rest of her messages. She had just clicked on the second one when she received an IM from LabelGrl.
LabelGrl: “Hi Karen!”
Karen arched a brow and typed back, “Hey LabelGrl. What’s up?”
LabelGrl: “Yeah, thanks for signing on. Look, I have a question concerning the video bit you posted today.”
“The … what?” Karen asked her computer monitor as she minimized the chat window and looked at her blog. Was LabelGrl talking about the “Who Owns a Pair of Mom Jeans” entry?
Karen: “Um, okay.”
LabelGrl: “The thing is … why did you post it?”
Karen blinked and typed her response. “Because I thought it was funny.”
LabelGrl: “To whom?”
Karen bit back a grin and was secretly impressed that LabelGrl used whom instead of who. “Well, I thought it was funny.”
LabelGrl: “So you think fat women are funny.”
Karen: “What in the world are you talking about?”
LabelGrl: “That video implies that women have to have a nine-inch zipper in order to get jeans over their fat asses.”
Karen thought about that for a moment before nodding at the screen. “And …?”
LabelGrl: “And you thought that was appropriate to post on your blog?”
Karen: “It’s a Saturday Night Live skit, yeah, I thought it was funny. Saturday Night Live cracks me up.”
LabelGrl: “Well, I didn’t appreciate it.”
Karen: “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
LabelGrl: “Take it off.”
Karen: “Take what off.” She knew what she was asking; she just couldn’t believe she was asking it.
LabelGrl: “The skit. Take it off your blog. It’s hateful and derogatory.”
Karen: “Let me get this straight … you’re asking me to remove something from my own blog because you didn’t like it?”
LabelGrl: “Yes.”
Karen: “Look. I’m sorry you found the bit offensive, but SNL has a reputation for being edgy and a tad tacky and though this piece is certainly not the most flattering to moms, I still think it was funny because in some ways, it’s true.”
LabelGrl: “So, you ARE making fun of fat people!”
Karen sighed at the screen and continued to type. “No, I think the skit was mainly making fun of moms and their fashion choices. I really don’t think it had anything to do with a size of a woman’s ass.”
LabelGrl: “So now you’re making fun of moms.”
Karen: “I think you’re putting words into my mouth. No, I’m not making fun of moms. I’ve caught myself falling into this same trap. Hell, I’ve even wore the vest they advertised at the end of the skit!”
LabelGrl: “I’m disappointed, Karen. I really liked your blog and you’ve disappointed me.”
Karen: “I’m truly sorry to hear that, LabelGrl. I know SNL stuff doesn’t appeal to everyone.”
LabelGrl: “I’m not the only one disappointed, Karen. There are lots of bloggers who think you take your humor too far.”
Karen: “Oh?”
LabelGrl: “Yeah, so if you want to continue receiving traffic from (such-and-such) blogroll, I suggest you remove that offensive skit immediately.”
Karen couldn’t resist asking the burning question, “Or … what?”
LabelGrl: “You’ll lose readers.”
Karen: “And that’s okay.”
LabelGrl: “What! How can you say that? Don’t you care?”
Karen: “Of course I care but I’m not going to change my personality every five minutes to accommodate a certain type of crowd, nor do I plan on censoring what I do post, or do not post on my blog. I’m truly sorry if this skit offended you, but I simply posted something that I thought was funny and that I thought other readers might find funny, too. The whole purpose of my blog is to make people laugh and share a bit of my boring, mundane life. That’s it. I’m not doing this to generate hits or gain popularity.”
LabelGrl: “I think it was a bitchy thing to do.”
Karen: “I’m sensing you have issues. I’ve said I was sorry, it’s not like I made the stupid thing myself. I’m simply a messenger.”
LabelGrl: “I DO NOT HAVE ISSUES! I’m only speaking as a concerned reader.”
Karen: “And I appreciate your concern, really. And again, I’m sorry you were offended. But I’m not taking it off.”
LabelGrl: “Fine. I’m never visiting your blog again.”
Karen stopped typing her response as soon as she noticed LabelGrl sign off. “I didn’t mean to make anyone mad.”
“What’s going on?” Karen’s husband said over her shoulder.
“I made a reader mad because of an SNL skit I posted about mom jeans.” She brought up the offending post and sat back so her husband could watch it.
He laughed. “It’s funny.”
“That’s what I thought!”
“And true,” he said.
She blinked up at him. “Do you think so?”
“Yeah. A lot of women DO have fat asses and wear unflattering, frumpy clothes after having kids.”
“Wait a minute,” Karen got out of her computer chair and faced her husband. “You try pushing an 8 pound baby through the opening the size of a straw and think …”
He held up his hands to fend off her temper. “I’m just saying …”
“I know what you’re saying,” she snapped back. Suddenly, she didn’t find the Mom Jean’s skit very funny either.
“So penguin, I was thinking of using THIS color in place of the red here. It looks too … bloody, don’t you think? I mean, we don’t want to scare off – ”
“Wait, did you just call me penguin?”
“What?” Tony continued to examine the brochure layout on the computer monitor.
“Tell me you did not just call me penguin.”
“Are you paying attention? We need to get this thing out in two hours and we still haven’t agreed on the color scheme here. Focus.”
“It’s hard to focus when someone just compared you to a fat, round, waddling animal wearing a tux.”
Tony ran his hand through his hair and sighed heavily. “Do you like your job? Because if we don’t get this done …”
“So, you think I’m fat, is that it?”
“Penguins aren’t fat. They’re … chubby.” He winced as soon as the words came out of his mouth.
“Wait. You did not just say that. Did you admit I’m chubby?”
Tony sank down onto his computer chair and glanced at his watch. This was not going well. “No, it’s just … it slipped out, okay?”
“How can the word penguin just slip out? Did you mean to say pen? Though I can’t imagine why you would want to call me a pen …”
“Penny seriously, we need to get back to work. We’re on – ”
“Hold up.” Penny tilted her head, her expression neutral. “Penny. Penguin.” Her hands moved up and down as if they were scales and she were weighing something. “Why did you … is that what people call me?”
“Nooooo,” Tony drew out the lone word. He could feel a trickle of sweat creep down his spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Tony,” Penny took a deep breath and pulled up a neighboring chair. “I’m going to ask you this one more time, is that what people call me?”
He simply blinked at her.
Penny’s shoulders slumped. “That is mean,” she whispered. “Penguins are fat, bald, waddle and smell fishy.” She suddenly sat up. “Do I smell??”
Tony sighed and again, glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry Penny. We don’t mean anything by it. Everyone has nicknames in the office. For instance, I’m Tiger; you know, like Tony the Tiger? Shelly is well, Shell. And Kelly is, um …”
“Kell?” Penny supplied.
He could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“So, I’m the only one with an unflattering nickname, is that it? What is it with you people?”
“Penguins are very smart,” Tony offered weakly. “And they’re always sharply dressed. And you gotta admit, you are definitely the best dressed person here.”
“Tiger?” she said, enunciating each word, “When this is over, penguin is going to kick your ass.”
Originally published on my self-hosted blog May 27, 2007.
Little Respect
“You’ll never guess what I’m doing right now,” the twenty-something woman with the long reddish-blonde hair sitting across from Lela said.
Lela shifted uncomfortably in her bus seat and directed a casual look out the window. She wasn’t eavesdropping, exactly; eavesdropping was rude, wasn’t it? But how could she not listen to the young woman’s conversation when the rest of the bus riders were relatively minding their own business and being quiet for a change.
“No, guess again,” cell-phone girl said with a smile.
Her friend, Joanne, sitting on her left, poked her in the arm. She gave Lela a sideways glance and then nodded toward the girl.
Lela answered with an imperceptive nod and tried to relay a silent message with her expression to stop bringing attention to them and not listen to the girl’s conversation.
Joanne didn’t take the hint and openly stared at the girl.
Cell-phone girl laughed. “No dope, not that … I’m on the bus for Christ sakes. Get your filthy mind out of the gutter.” The girl noted Joanne’s stare and with a grimace, twisted away from the two older women.
Lela noticed small spots of cherry red appear on the girl’s cheeks. She again glanced away and sighed. Young people nowadays … did they have no shame? Though she didn’t know what the person on the other end of the phone had suggested, she could imagine it wasn’t what a good Christian person would have said. She hated cell phones. No one bothered with privacy anymore. Cell phone users no longer cared about tact and diplomacy and treated any public venue like their own personal phone booth.
“So .. Friday night,” the girl said. “What exactly is the plan? Hang out at Brees? Or is Autumn having a party at her house? Oh, and what about Slade? He’s not hanging with us this weekend, is he?”
Lela couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose in distaste. Those names. How silly. What ever happened to good old fashion names like Mary, and Sally or even John? She issued a long-suffering sigh and leaned her head against the glass of the window. John. She missed her John.
“Hang on a sec, Trent,” the girl placed the tiny phone against her chest. Lela looked toward the girl and noticed she was glaring at Joanne. “What’s up, grandma? Hear anything exciting?” She snorted in the most rude way and continued, “A little privacy, please?”
Lela couldn’t help herself; she snickered at the girl’s words. She stiffened when she saw the girl shift her unnaturally bright blue eyes toward her.
“What’s your problem, you old hag,” the girl snarled.
Lela glanced down at her gloved hands and felt tears gather in the corners of her eyes. What happened to common decency? She couldn’t imagine any of her four girls talking like that to an elder. No one had any respect anymore. It was all about them and their needs and wants.
“Yeah I thought so, bitch.” The girl brought the phone back up to her ear and said in loud and icy tones. “Sorry. I’ve got two old biddies giving me the evil eye.” She shot Joanne and Lela a hateful look before bursting out laughing. “Yeah, I should. I really should. That’d really give ‘em something to write home to the grandkids about.”
The bus suddenly lurched to a stop and the girl stood up. “Wait. Hold that thought. This is my stop. Let me get off this bus of losers so I can hear you.” The girl pushed her way through the five people in front of her and stumbled awkwardly off the bus. As she hopped down the last stair, she tripped and nearly fell flat on her face. A woman, probably in her mid-thirties, witnessed the whole thing and laughed out loud.
The girl on the sidewalk saw the woman laugh at her and flipped her off. The woman promptly returned the favor and continued to hold the gesture long after the bus pulled away from the curb.
Lela couldn’t help but smile a bit at the woman’s boldness. Joanne again nudged her and giggled under her breath.
The woman turned back around in her seat and addressed Lela and Joanne. “Don’t you hate modern conveniences?” she said with a friendly smile.
Lela returned the smile and nodded shyly. Indeed she did.
1000 Words Meme Did I tell you I really dig photo prompts?
Well, I do. Photos have always interested me – there’s so much STORY behind them and the great part? Is that the interpretation is endless.
As usual, any fiction I post on this blog is inspired by true life events – either from my life, something I’ve heard or something I’ve read. In fact, it’s safe to say that the fiction I post? Is my way of telling you what’s really on my mind.
With a little dramatization thrown in for good measure. *grin*
Gwen softly fingered the blood red leaves on the poinsettia plant. The leaves felt like well-worn silk – there were some spots that felt a little fuzzy, other spots were smooth and thinning.
“Do you think she’s being controlled??” she asked the man on the sofa.
“I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill, Gwen,” the man said and snapped his paper in irritation at her interruption.
She sighed and idly rearranged the plant. “I think he’s manipulating her. I just can’t believe she’s not coming down for Christmas. I mean, I could understand it if she had to work but …” she shook her head and turned around to face her husband. “What about the girls? Don’t we deserve to see them?” she choked back a sob at the thought of not seeing her granddaughters.
“Gwen,” the man said patiently and lowered his paper so he could see her over the top. “We don’t know what’s going on. I really think you’re jumping to conclusions.”
“But,” she sniffed, “ever since she got together with that,” she paused and tried to search for a word that would describe her daughter’s new boyfriend, “man,” she spat the word out deciding it was probably safer to stick with a more generic term as opposed to the non-Christian description she had in her mind, “came into her life, she hasn’t been the same. She hasn’t called,” she ticked the reasons off on her fingers, “she hasn’t emailed me. She hasn’t given me a straight answer about anything since he started coming around. She won’t even let me talk to the girls!”
“You talked to them last week!” he said, a note of exasperation in his voice.
“No I didn’t.”
Her husband put the paper down and gave her a straight, pointed look over the top of his glasses. “Gwen Michelle Lane, you most certainly did talk to those girls last week. I was sitting right here and heard you!”
She shrugged and stuck her lower lip out in a small pout. “It wasn’t the same.”
He continued looking at her, not saying a word.
“It wasn’t!” she said defensively. “Normally, they talk my ear off, and giggle. My lord, those girls can giggle whenever they get going. I can’t remember the last time we talked and they didn’t giggle over something.” She broke eye contact with her husband and looked down at the small table, idly tracing a finger through the light layer of dust that had accumulated since last week. She made a mental note to dust before the children arrived.
IF the children arrived.
“Maybe they just didn’t have anything to laugh about.”
“Exactly!” She said, excited that he was coming around to her way of thinking. “I think there is so much sadness in that house since” she waved a dismissive hand “what’s his name came into the picture that, well,” she paused and bit her lip, suddenly unsure of her argument, “that they’ve just been …” she shot him a frustrated look, “different, that’s all.”
He grunted and she continued.
“Look, I can’t describe it, okay? A mother just knows these things. Something’s not right with Samantha and the girls, I feel it.”
“Alright, assuming for a minute you’re right, and” he held up a hand to stop her when she started to say something, “I’m not saying you are. But just because I’m in the mood to argue with you, let’s say you are. What was her reason for not coming down again?”
“She said,” and Gwen couldn’t help but roll her eyes, “that what’s his name had to work the day before and the day after Christmas and she didn’t want him to spend Christmas day all by himself.”
He nodded and continued to look at her.
She defiantly held his gaze.
He finally huffed after long seconds passed. “And?”
“And what?”
“And that’s it?”
“Well,” her superior expression melted into uncertainty, “yes.”
“It’s a new relationship, Gwen. Don’t you remember how hard it was for us to do anything separately when we first started dating?”
Despite her concern, she smiled softly. “Yes, I remember.”
“Well, it’s the same thing for her. She wants to spend as much time with … what IS his name anyway?” he asked while arching a bushy brow at her.
“Kelvin,” she supplied with a long-suffering sigh.
“Right, Kelvin.” He snapped his fingers. “I knew it was something weird like that. Well, she just wants to spend time with Kelvin. After all, it doesn’t sound like the man is going to get a lot of time off and she wants to make the most of it.”
“But what about the girls?”
He sighed. “That is unfortunate.”
“I can’t stand the thought of not spending Christmas day with our granddaughters, Randy. We’ve spent every Christmas with them since they were babies!”
“Well,” he put the paper down and struggled off the sofa cushion to stand up. “Times are changin’. They’re getting bigger. They may not want to spend the holidays with a couple of old coots like us.” He slowly hobbled over to her.
Gwen shook her head and looked distracted. “I don’t think that’s it. I just think he’s turning their lives upside down and Samantha is so relieved to have someone else take charge for a change that she’s allowing him to control her.”
Randy placed his arm around his wife’s small shoulders and hugged her close to him. “Samantha has had a really hard time since the divorce, Gwen. Let’s cut her some slack, okay?”
“Did you hear he took Dana’s books away?”
“What?”
She nodded firmly before continuing. “He felt like she was spending way too much time in her fantasy worlds and not enough time in the real world. In fact, he cut up her library card!”
Randy’s brows arched. “That seems a little extreme.”
“That’s what I thought. She’s a bookish-sort of person. She enjoys books. She’s a good girl. She doesn’t do drugs, she’s making good grades, she doesn’t hang out with a bunch of trouble kids, she’s always in by curfew …” she shook her head. “It’s just not right.”
“What does Samantha say about all of this? I thought she was encouraging Dana’s interest in books. Didn’t she even say something about pursuing a career at the library?”
Gwen rested her head against her husband’s shoulder. “That’s the weird part. She agrees with Kelvin. In fact, every time I ask for her opinion, she always refers to what Kelvin wants. It’s like she doesn’t have her own mind anymore. It’s creepy.”
“Well, I’m sure there’s more to the story. We don’t really know ….”
His words were cut off by the phone ringing. Gwen snatched a tissue out of a nearby tissue box and quickly wiped her nose before answering.
“Hello?”
“Grandma?” A small, female voice asked.
“Yes? Is that you, Dana? Speak up honey, I can barely hear you. Why are you whispering?”
“Grandma?” the voice sobbed. “I’m so scared!”
Christmas song #11 Linus & Lucy by The Vince Guaraldi Trio
“If you could rearrange three things about your life what would they be?”
Dee tugged off her glasses and placed them next to her mouse pad. She reached up to lightly rub the indentations on the bridge of her nose before turning to look at her co-worker in the next cubicle. She smiled. Lacy’s hair was tied up into a messy knot on the top of her head, curly tendrils clung to her lipstick-smeared bronzed lips.
“Nice hair,” Dee said with a chuckle.
Lacy waved her aside and impatiently removed the hair clinging to the corner of her mouth. “I’m growing it out and it’s driving me crazy. Now answer the question.”
“Don’t you have a deadline?”
“This is part of my article. I didn’t have enough time to go out and do a poll thing, so I’m asking you, If you could rearrange three things about your life what would they be?”
“Because I represent the vast majority of single women,” Dee responded with a smirk.
“So you’re not single,” Lacy said with a roll of her eyes. “You’re a woman and that’s all I need at this point.”
Dee reached for her diet coke and took a quiet sip.
“Sometime before I reach my next birthday would be groovy,” said Lacy.
“I’m thinking.”
“Well think faster. I have to present this to dragon lady, er, Rachel, in the next 30 minutes.”
“Why did you wait until the last minute to do this? That’s not like you.”
Lacy released an exasperated sigh and wheeled herself more fully into Dee’s cramped square of space. “I had a date last night and –”
Dee interrupted while scanning over Lacy’s wrinkled clothes. “Didn’t you wear that yesterday?”
Lacy remained silent and gave her a pointed stare.
When the realization that Lacy hadn’t gone home last night hit her, she raised her eyebrows in mock shock. “Ah, the date went well, then.”
“You could say that,” Lacy responded while lifting an arm to smell under her pit. “I need to use your deodorant.”
Dee blushed and huffed a reply, “What makes you think I have deodorant on me?”
“Oh please, the Queen of Clean? Everyone knows you not only have backup toiletries in your bottom drawer, but that you keep a bag of fresh clothes stuffed into a corner in the breakroom.”
Dee’s blush deepened. “How do people know that?”
“We’re not as clueless as you think we are, Lacy.”
“I never –”
“Can you just answer the freaking question, please? Time is ticking and I’m starting to sweat.”
Dee grinned and gestured to her own upper lip. “You are, actually. I can see a sweat mustache right here …”
It was Lacy’s turn to blush and she hurriedly brought up a finger to swipe at the moisture. “You’re killing me. Are you doing this on purpose?”
Dee blinked and tried to maintain an innocent face.
“Tick tock, Murphy,” Lacy growled.
Dee’s amusement dried up as she glanced at the clock. “Actually, I really don’t have time for this, Lacy. I have my own deadline to meet.”
“All the more reason to answer the damn question,” Lacy replied with a deadpan expression.
Dee sighed and twirled her messy ponytail around her finger. “Geez … I don’t know. My life is pretty cool as is.”
Lacy continued to stare at her.
Dee stared back.
Lacy’s stare was bold and unblinking.
Dee finally blinked and broke the spell.
“Fine. Number one – my cubicle. That way, I wouldn’t have to sit next to you and answer these stupid questions before I’ve had my third cup of coffee.”
Lacy snorted and just continued to stare.
“I hate you, you know this, right?”
“I have a fan club of people who hate me. I consider it every journalist’s compliment.”
Dee continued to meet her unwavering stare.
“Tick tock,” Lacy said, barely moving her lips.
Dee threw up her hands in surrender. “One, my work schedule. If I had my way, I wouldn’t come in until 10:00 a.m. every morning and then leave around 3ish.”
“Ooh, good one,” Lacy said and abruptly disappeared behind the cubicle wall.
Dee released a long, relieved sigh and thought perhaps that was enough to start the ball rolling in Lacy’s head.
She was wrong.
Lacy reappeared with a notepad and began scrawling in her hurried, messy handwriting. “Two?”
Dee squirmed and then looked down at her chair. “Comfortable seats. My butt is killing me.”
Lacy lifted her pen and saluted her without looking up or missing a beat in her writing. “Better butt. Check.”
“I said better seats, not butt.”
“Same thing,” said Lacy. She finally looked up and her eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Do you normally misquote your sources?”
“I never misquote,” she responded with a toss of her head “I just tweak them a bit, that’s all.”
Dee rolled her eyes and turned toward her monitor when the sound of her email program caught her attention. “It’s from Micheal,” she said while clicking on the icon to open the message.
“Hellllo, I need number three here.”
Dee was silent for long moments as she read the short, but brutal, message.
Lacy began to impatiently tap her pencil against the page of her notebook. “Sometime before my hair turns gray, Dee.”
Dee’s eyes began to water and she swallowed the hard, bitter lump in her throat. “How about this one,” she began, her voice wavering slightly. “A husband who doesn’t consistently put his career ahead of you.” She whirled around in her chair and glared at Lacy, daring her to say a word.
Lacy’s eyes ran over her friend’s face with sympathy. Micheal’s message was clear, and though both women were thinking the same thing, neither was ready to say it out loud.
“Never mind,” Lacy said softly, “I’ll come up with the last one.” She wheeled herself back to her cubicle.
Dee reached for a tissue. “No, use it,” she said and blew her nose. “What woman can’t relate to this one?”
Write From Karen 