Flash Fiction Friday

From here, starter sentence in blue:

A kiss as sweet as syrup and as light as whipped cream landed on my cheek as they pranced past me on their way out the door.

"Thanks, mom!" "Bye, Mom!" they called out before the door slammed shut behind them.

And then there was silence.


That's all I can come up with. My feelings are just blunted today, for whatever reason. Not in a bad way, not in a good way... I'm just at cruising altitude.

Speaking of cruising altitude, Dilf flew out to Seattle yesterday and had a screaming baby/loud bloviating blowhard/puking fellow passenger trifecta on board. The puker had to strip off his shirt and take a half-naked walk of shame down the aisle to the lavatory in vomit-covered pants. If exciting things like that happened to me, I might have something to blog about.

As it is, I'm just sitting in my living room chair, the faint musky odor of skunk spray slowly dissipating into the near-spring air, a snoring dog at my feet, staring at the left behind boxes of Gorilla Munch and Maple Pecan Clusters on the breakfast table. That's if I turn to my right.

If I turn to my left, I look out onto my front yard, with the maple tree's red buds contrasting against a robins egg sky, the grass just starting to turn a mossy green, and a bright yellow fire hydrant saluting me from across the street. A lady in a striped sweater is walking a small fluffy white dog of indeterminate breed. There's always someone walking down my street on the way to the park.

I hardly ever saw anyone when we lived in Texas. First of all, the main living areas were at the back of the house rather than the front. Is it telling that a house like mine, built somewhere mid-20th-century, faces out into the world, while the Texas house built in 2006 or 2007 or whatever, was turned away? Is that meaningful?

Second, people here bike and walk and take public transportation to places. There's often a purpose beyond their own exercise involved. They're not just jamming themselves into lycra this-or-that and making a loop around and back to their own homes. Of course, sometimes they are just going for a stroll around the park. But there are buses to catch at the park entrance and stores to walk to and things like that, too. Why does that matter to me? I think it's that my neighborhood is connected to the larger world, where that other place I lived was more like a compound.

I'm not sure there's a third. Well, there's likely a third and perhaps a fourth, but they escape me at the moment.

On a more (possibly) alarming note, I have not seen twelve pack since we moved back. Did he get his license back? Did he get a different job? Is he carpooling? Did someone steal his bicycle? Did he move? I wish I knew... I wish I knew. Oh, twelve pack, will you ever cease to be a mystery to me?

That is all for today.
Name: Übermilf
Location: Chicago Area

If being easily irritated, impatient and rebellious is sexy, then call me MILF -- Übermilf.

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