Flash Fiction Friday can be found here. My contribution, with the starter sentence in blue:
“Nicole’s cataracts have worsened, so I knew she was going to be running late because she had to relearn her way around. She suprised me at the restaurant when she showed up beside our usual table and asked me, ‘wow, what just happened?’”
What tipped her off, I wondered. Was it the smell of mustard? Perhaps the gladiola petals no doubt scattered hither and yon about my person? Or was it the gunpowder?
It all started when my refrigerator exploded that morning. In preparation for my bridge club meeting later that day, I had filled my refrigerator with trays of finger sandwiches, a cheese and a salmon ball, and assorted crudité. Also, pickles and olives. And a lemon ice box cake. This onslaught of new party foods caused the existing residents of the refrigerator to rebel, and the half-used bottles of salad dressing convinced the jar of mustard to become a suicide bomber. My tasteful yet casual ensemble was its unfortunate victim. I doubt my Easy Spirits will ever be the same again.
But I wasn't going to let a little mustard ruin my day. No, sir. I changed into a smart pantsuit and I was ready to go. I decided to buy some flowers. Yes, to honor Mother Nature's gift of sweet springtime, with its warm lilting breezes and its promise of new life... flowers. I do so adore flowers.
After visiting the florist on Main, I exited the store with high hopes for the vivid blossoms which adorned the long, slender stalks. I had a new tall vase that would be perfect for them. I just pictured them, on the hall table, welcoming visitors with their sweet scent and cheery brightness. My flowers would be the talk of the bridge club for weeks. Especially since so many ladies were also members of the garden club.
I was so entranced by the thought of my beautiful gladiolas, I almost didn't notice the tribe of hooligans who had congregated in front of Nick's Trick Shop. They were amusing themselves by throwing those little white packets that explode with a loud "pop" when thrown upon the ground. These mischievous malcontents had already caused Mrs. MacCready's bichon frisee to wet itself on the sidewalk, and nearly caused old Mr. Oleson to keel over from a heart attack.
Well. They weren't going to upset this gladiola-loving woman's day. "You, there!" I shouted out. "I know your moth-" but before I could conclude my sentence, those ruffians threw three boxes of pocket explosives and a bag of marbles RIGHT AT ME! Everywhere I walked, danger met my steps. First a loud bang, then the marbles... I lost my footing. My lovely gladiolas went flying through the air, and when I landed on my bottom, a defeaning blast echoed throughout the downtown.
It was all I could do to retain my dignity.
I refused the gracious offers of help, and stumbled to the restaurant where I could restore myself with a small glass of sherry. I was determined not to ruin my luncheon date with my dear friend Nicole by relating my small tragedies. But she DID ask...
Name: Übermilf
Location: Chicago Area
If being easily irritated, impatient and rebellious is sexy, then call me MILF -- Übermilf.
So you want more huh?
Click here!
Perverts, scram. There's nothing for you here.
Now, who wants cupcakes?
Location: Chicago Area
If being easily irritated, impatient and rebellious is sexy, then call me MILF -- Übermilf.
So you want more huh?
Click here!
Perverts, scram. There's nothing for you here.
Now, who wants cupcakes?
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Daddy Flounder
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Dear Prudence (and honor)
Bigfoot
He says he's scared, but he's not
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Double Post. Double Post.
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Miss Julie
Delightfully Crabby Old Man
He's Not From Birmingham!!!!!
Miss Fritz
Fran, She Is
Jeannie Martini
White Boy Bob BACK BABY
Fez-Wearing Monkey for President
Viva Las ToddASS
Dr. Sardonic
Ask Reverend Jack(Back!)
Mr. Importantness
Melliferous Pants.
My cute widdle uppity-puppety
Jiggsy Baby
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Banana Blogarama
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