Betrayal

"You're hands are so small," Jeremy said, as he threaded his masculine fingers between my dainty ones.

"Maybe yours are just big," I teased back, glancing up at him shyly.

It's harmless, I told myself. We're just talking. Friends hold hands all the time.

•  •  •  •  •

It was Friday night after finals, and I was at a house party. Everyone was in the basement playing pool and Wii "Just Dance." I had channeled my inner MC Hammer and gotten the high score for "U Can't Touch This" before going upstairs for another beer. I was on my way out of the kitchen when I ran into Jeremy leaving the bathroom. We had stood in the hallway chatting for about 15 minutes before he suggested sitting on the couch.

I had thought he was cute from a distance all semester, even though he was a jock. I tended to prefer someone my size, someone I knew I could take if I had to. It didn't matter anyway; my roommate, Sarah, had called dibs on him the first day we saw him. Like most college guys I knew, he seemed to want to keep his options open, dating girls a few times, but never getting serious. We were friends through a group, so I knew him, but not very well. This was the first time I'd had a chance to talk to him alone.

As we chatted, I felt an instant chemistry with him. I watched his soft, full lips form the words to a story, his chocolate-brown eyes giving away that it was a joke. I laughed and touched his arm, tucking my foot under my knee so I could face him more easily. Just some light flirting. He got up to get us fresh drinks, and when he sat back down, he had closed the distance between us by half. No big deal.

"To the end of finals," he said with a lopsided grin, clinking my bottle with his.

"Amen," I agreed, leaning back into the sofa. I took a long swig and felt the alcohol tingle down my throat before I set it on the coffee table next to his.

"Those are cool earrings." He reached over and delicately held my earlobe. I inhaled his crisp, musky scent, as my breath caught in my throat.

"Thanks." I reached up to feel them. Our hands brushed against each other, and mine lingered for a moment before settling on the pearl stud. "Oh, these were a present from my sister on my 21st birthday."

He let out a low whistle. "Nice sister."

I smiled. "Sometimes being the youngest has its perks. She's been in the real world long enough to actually have money." 

As my hand fell back to the couch, I let it land beside his. He slid his pinky on top of mine sending a shiver through me.

"You're hands are so small," Jeremy said, as he threaded his masculine fingers between my dainty ones.

"Maybe yours are just big," I teased back, glancing up at him shyly.

It's harmless, I told myself. We're just talking. Friends hold hands all the time.

As he manipulated my fingers, we shifted closer to each other so that only a space of electricity was left between us.

I fought to control my breathing, my chest tight with desire. His breath was warm on my fingertips. I closed my eyes and let my head tilt until it was scarcely touching his shoulder. His lips skimmed across my knuckle, and I was glad we were already sitting as my knees went weak.

"Grace."

I knew he wanted me to look up at him. I wanted to look up at him, but I knew what would happen if I did.

"Yes?" My skin was tingling and the butterflies in my stomach made it difficult to speak.

"Grace."

I took a slow, trembling breath, and opened my eyes before tilting my face toward his.

"Yes?" The word was whispered so quietly, it was simply a puff of air in the inch between us.

Stop. You have to tell him you can't. 

He leaned down toward me, seemingly in slow motion, yet too quickly for me to say the words I knew I needed to say.

His lips were warm and gentle, and suddenly the world fell away, and there was no couch, no party, no Sarah, just Jeremy. His arm around my back, his other hand squeezing my thigh, his curly brown hair enmeshed in my fingers. His fingers, spanning my shoulder blades as easily as he could palm a basketball. Our kisses became deeper and more urgent until I found myself wanting nothing more than to feel the weight of his body on top of mine.

Reluctantly, we came back to reality, and slowly, achingly, disentangled ourselves from each other. I slid my legs that had found their way onto his lap back down on the couch. My hand plaintively shifted from his six-pack abs under his sweater to my own lap. He angled back to look in my eyes and swept the hair from my cheek. Gently he kissed my nose, then my forehead, before pulling me to him. I leaned my head on his chest as he enveloped me with brawny arms. The euphoria faded as I realized I would have to go back downstairs and see Sarah.

This week's prompt was: 

Let's get all steamy up in here and write about sex. But you know us. There's a twist. You can't write about the act. I don't want to read about any heaving bosoms or girded manhood (please tell me someone else giggled besides me). There are so many other possibilities. And I hope you have fun finding them.Limit is 600 words. It can be fiction or non-fiction. Come back here and link up Friday!!

I decided to write about the intensity that leads up to sex and the post-coital snuggling, skipping the act itself. I suppose there was a bit of heaving bosom involved, so I'm not sure I completed the assignment entirely within the parameters. As always, concrit is welcome!

Coda

Emeline tilted her skinny-jean-clad hips toward the wall of glass, watching the 747s approach the orderly runways with seemingly illogical markings. Obviously the pilots had to learn what those meant, but it just looked like sidewalk chalk gone wild to her. She fidgeted impatiently with the cameo locket whose chain perpetually encircled her slender neck. Her twin sister, Jasmine, was coming to visit for the first time since they had both fled home for college. She to the West to major in music history at USC; Jasmine to the East to study at Juilliard.

Emeline wiggled her toes from excitement in her TOMS. They were a parting/good-luck gift from her sister. Emmie loved them. She wasn't one to spend much on clothes; these shoes were by far the most expensive item in her wardrobe. But it was just like Jazz to choose something so perfect for Emmie, without regard to cost and at the same time, with a company that was philanthropic in its own right.

She imagined the look on Jasmine's face when they first saw each other. Emeline had chopped off her long, wavy, blonde hair into a straight bob and dyed it bright red, wearing it in a mussed, bed-head style. Would Jazz even recognize her? Emmie smiled to herself; of course, she would. The connection between their souls was such a tight bond, Emeline believed Jasmine could find her in the middle of Times Square on New Year's Eve.

Emmie's vintage gingham top reflected back at her in the window as she squinted her eyes and tried to figure out which plane was her sister's. The aircraft that were circling above appeared to be tiny models in the sky, but as they approached the runways, they became larger, and she could make out the logos on their tails.

American,
United,
Delta,
United,
United,
American,
Frontier,
American,
United,
Southwest,
Southwest,
Southwest,

Jet Blue.

That must be it. Emeline smiled, unable to contain her joy. She had so many things to tell Jasmine; they had decided to save their limited cell minutes and wait to talk in person this week. Emmie was debating what she would ask Jazz about first when she noticed the Jet Blue plane seemed to be going faster than the others she'd seen land. She looked more closely. The wheels didn't appear to be down. Her heart caught in her throat.

Emeline's hand formed a fist around the pendant she had previously caressed as she watched, horrified. The nose of the plane hit first, the clamor of screeching metal perceptible through the glass, not only as sound, but as physical vibrations. Her fist pounded forward against the window in defiance, breaking the clasp on the necklace as it hammered again and again in syncopation with her screams, willing the catastrophe to end. The body of the plane was next, pitching the tail up and forward before falling back and collapsing as a trail of dominoes, flames erupting in staccato explosions.

Despondent, Emeline felt her body start to give out, and she leaned her forehead against the window for support. Plump tears fell in a cadence down her cheeks as she closed her azure eyes behind her Buddy Holly-style glasses. The muscles in her hand relaxed, suddenly exhausted, and the necklace slid from her grasp. The locket bounced as it hit the industrial carpet and sprung open, revealing aged photos of two towheaded girls. The chain continued it's descent, coming to its final resting place on top of her left shoe.

This week's prompt was to write about your character (or yourself) and a pair of his or her shoes. Those shoes can be real or symbolic, they can hurt or be super comfy but I want to see what they say about the life of the person wearing them. Concrit is always welcome!

Non-Bloggers Just Don't Understand

So I was Tweeting with  @DonutsMama and @suitcasetricks about their entry in @fourplusanangel 's #TwitterTwin contest and @DonutsMama mentioned that her family thought she was crazy. I told her DH thinks I'm weird when I talk about my blog/Twitter friends. And THEN @DonutsMama said this:

Ok, what's the first thing that pops into your head when you see that? Well, if you're in your late thirties like me, it's Will Smith, baby. (If you are crazy and don't remember that song, here's a link to it.)

Then I thought of @KelleysBreakRm and how she does awesome song parodies - she even did a Will Smith (Hottie McToddie!) one recently - The Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme song which of course ROCKED. So I said I was considering doing one myself. Then @bellebeandog jumped on board and encouraged the idea (as did Kelley!). I jumped in with gusto! And then I remembered how long that song is. So I only did half of it. (You'll thank me for that later.)

So without further ado, I present to you, "Non-Bloggers Just Don't Understand."

You know people are the same
No matter time nor place.
They don't understand that bloggers
Play for high stakes!
So to Tweeters and bloggers all across the land
There's no need to argue,
Non-bloggers just don't understand.

Oh-kay, here's the situation:
My family went away on a week's vacation, and
I brought my iTouch so I could Tweet.
Would they mind?
Umm, well, of course not.
I'll just Tweet for a little while
We're in California - Tweet about style!
And maybe bring my laptop to Hollywood.
Well, maybe I shouldn't...
Yeah, of course I should!

Pay attention, here's the thick of the plot:
My family asked me to get offline - I think not!
Just last week, on the Twitter I had heard about
A cool stat program I needed to join that's called Klout.
It's the latest term I've learned in the Twitterverse.
Tried to get a handle on the Blogosphere first.
Gigi from Kludgy Mom started me on my course
With a B2B program I finished without remorse!
Then I learned about SEO from Aunt Becky -
John Meyer must admit she's not your average mommy!
Support in the blogger world is unparalleled:
Eli Rose Social? My hand they have held!
SITS Girls, Theta Mom, Mamaped - ia,
Studio 30 Plus, BlogHer, TRDC! Uh!

Not to mention all the fun I have with my Tweeps!
One I know has an avi that looks like a sheep!
There's Liz, Kris and Shell, Angie and Lori,
Rachel, Jen and D, and of course, KLZ!
Not to mention Cheryl, Nichole and Katie,
Tim, Erin, Alex, and then there's Natalie.
Jen, Sherry, Kelley; Julia and Yulia.
Wait, hold the phone - did you say Julia Goulia?
No, don't be ridiculous! These people aren't fake!
They're funny and witty and their tweets take the cake!
Some I've grown to know so well it seems like they're kin.
Jessica says some of them even look like twins!
I'd name more, but I must pay some attention
To my fam I'm with since we're on vacation.

It was time to head home, back to KC,
Had the windows down - "Road trip!" - nice and breezy.
Instead of family vacation memories,
The thoughts in my head were re: my online peeps.
I found myself laughing about a tweet or story
That I read on a blog, a forum or a linky.
I 'd tell my hubby and my kids and they would say,
"OK, but you don't really KNOW them anyway."
I tried to speak, I said, "I want to plead my case!"
But my hubby and my kids just made a weird face.
That was a hard ride home, I don't know how I survived it.
The kids just laughed while my husband was driving.

Well, people are the same
No matter time nor place,
So to Tweeters and bloggers all across the land
Take it from me,
Non-bloggers just don't understand.

Heaven

First, I just wanted to let all the Red Dress Club gals know that my reading partner had her twins yesterday! Congrats to Sara from Our Urban Village!

Heaven

The red and white sprinkles rained down from fluffy, cotton candy clouds, catching in her blonde curls. Elvie lifted her face, eyes closed, tongue out to catch them. Her pink dress billowed out in undulating waves as far as she could see. She raised her arms out from her small form, palms up, praising the sugary heavens. 

Yum! she thought. If only Mama could see me now. Sprinkle donuts had been her favorite, especially pink-frosted ones. 

With a mouthful of sprinkles, Elvie dropped her head back down and looked around as she savored the sweetness. She heard music and began to walk toward it. At first she was afraid she would get tripped up in her dress, but it was as if it moved with her, never getting under her feet. Though she'd been timid in preschool, she felt a serenity here that allowed her to indulge her innate curiosity without hesitation. She came upon a large tent, bigger than any building she'd ever seen in her short life. It was filled with kind faces, many singing, most smiling, all peaceful. Everyone wore brightly-colored, loose-fitting clothes like the nurses had been wearing at her hospital. She was surprised that even though there were tons of voices, it wasn't too loud; just a melodic tinkling at a comfortable decibel level. 

A woman was watching her, patiently waiting for Elvie to see her. At first, Elvie just thought she was another of the ephemeral creatures, but when their eyes met, she instantly recognized her and felt a surge of joy. "Grandma?" she asked.

"Hi, Baby Girl!" She scooped Elvie up in her arms. 

"I didn't expect you to be here so soon," she said, brushing a stray curl from Elvie's face. "But it's wonderful to see you."

"It's wonderful to see you, too, Grandma," Elvie replied. "I was missing you."

"I know, Love." 

Grandma set Elvie down after another tight hug. 

"What's everyone doing?" Elvie asked.

"It's praise time!" Grandma said, excitedly. "That was always your favorite part of church, wasn't it?"

"Yes!" Elvie clapped and jumped up and down. She took her grandmother's hand, and they made their way through the crowd to a space that had been left just for them. Elvie sang and twirled and danced. 

After awhile, the crowd slowly quieted. A figure appeared at the doorway. He was non-descript, yet looked exactly as Elvie had pictured him. As she walked to his open arms, she he was filled with awe, wonder, peace and love, and knew she was home.

This week's prompt was to write a piece, fiction or non-fiction, inspired by this picture. Word limit was 600. I did not expect this to take me where it did, so I struggled with how to finish it. But at least I managed to avoid finishing a donut like in the picture!

For Sale

For Sale

One preschooler. Strawberry-blonde hair; bright blue eyes; rosy cheeks; full, pouty lips; three feet tall. Answers to the name S, also known as Stinky, Sunshine, Sweetie, Love, Darling, Punkin Pie, Baby Girl. Personality traits include, but are not limited to, reserved, stubborn, hot-tempered, dramatic, sassy. Known for selective hearing, flamboyant tantrums, tornadic paths of destruction.

Price: Not looking to make much off her, only want to get my money back to basically break even. $3,500 for the birth; $600 for formula after she weaned herself at 6 months; $8,212 for meals since she's been on solids; $7,040 for daycare; $3,375 for medical expenses such as insurance premiums, dr. visit co-pays and medications; and about $2,000 for clothes and basic supplies. Rounded up to cover my eBay listing fee and time to write this ad, which comes to... $25,000.

Holy crap - do you realize what I could have done with an extra $25K over the last 3 1/2 years?? I could have gone on the trips to Australia and Europe that my single friends took. I could have bought a cool new car (not the minivan we got). I could have gotten a gym membership and hired a personal trainer and gotten back down to my ideal weight.

Not to mention the sleep I could have gotten. I'm estimating I've lost about 3,000 hours of sleep since she and her sister were born. Y-I-K-E-S. Which has resulted in my starting to drink coffee. Ooh! There's another $3,000 in Frappacinos/fancy coffees to keep me awake and functioning.

Man, I miss sleeping in. Of course, I love when she pads down the hall in the morning to my room and climbs into bed with me to snuggle for a few minutes before we get up. I guess those few minutes would counteract the hours of missing sleep from the night before. And she is funny, intelligent, imaginative, caring and thoughtful. I suppose I should deduct the value of her helping with the shopping, making dinner and tidying up the aforementioned areas of destruction. Plus, she's very selective when it comes to doling out hugs and kisses; those are priceless.

Ok, sorry - going to have to pull this post down. No matter how much she may drive me crazy, nothing is more valuable to me than her.

This is based on a prompt from The Red Dress Club. We want you to imagine you've just had a fight with a friend, a co-worker, husband, significant other, child - you get the picture. You're mad. It's time for revenge. What would you sell? Write a humorous listing for eBay or Craig's List. Talk about the history of the items, why they must go. Word limit is 600. I took a little bit of liberty with the directions on this. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Identity Shift

 

So many possibilities for the prompt this week! Serious - a death, a plague. Literal - an earthquake, a mudslide. Fun - first kiss, first airplane ride. Love - a wedding, a birth. It would be fun to take this prompt  and do 3 versions. And, of course, there's always the choice whether to write fiction or non-fiction. I tend to prefer to write fiction for the Red Writing Hood since I have my blog for non-fiction, but this one called me to go autobiographical. So, here's what I ended up with:

•  •  •  •  •  •  • •  •  •  •

Identity Shift

I could never have imagined that I would love something so girly. Most of the time I preferred to dig in the dirt with trucks, play softball and be rough and tumble. Kids decided that I must be a boy since I had short hair and didn't want to wear a dress or play with dolls. I wished I had some way to belong in the category of "girl" other than my anatomy. This dichotomy of gender and expectation was an invisible membrane that surrounded me and prevented me from being able to settle into an identity.

My parents encouraged me to do and be anything, and offered me opportunities to participate in lots of activities, partly because they were forward-thinkers, and partly because my mother, herself once a tomboy, wanted to get me out of the house to burn off energy. In addition to playing softball, I took ice skating lessons, swim lessons and eventually played soccer and tennis. So when they signed me up for dance, the hyper-active, outgoing part of me was glad for an activity while the tomboy side was dreading the idea of having to put on tights and a leotard.

The dance studio where I began my training was owned by a couple in their 50's, Miss Nina and Mr. Bill. Their influences were Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. They were not big on Madonna or the new MTV; a bit of Fosse was as edgy as they got. The dress code was strictly black leotards and pink tights (white t-shirts and black shorts for boys), no crazy neon colors, no cute little tutus. Girls with long hair were required to wear it in a ponytail or a bun, and Miss Nina was known to pull on those to get students to focus in the right direction. A poster that read "DISCIPLINE" was the only adornment above the barre. She demanded a lot from us, and for a bundle of energy who needed an outlet, it was a perfect fit. I craved the structure and loved the hard work.

The rigidity of their system was evidenced by the age-restrictions for classes for the different styles of dance. I began attending when I was five. My only option was a combo class - half an hour of tap and half an hour of tumbling. At some point I switched to a full hour for each, but I can't quite recall when. Once I was eight, I was allowed to start ballet. I know it was a big deal that I was finally old enough to do it which is the only reason I can think I would have wanted to since ballet is such an exceptionally feminine style.

I don't remember the specifics of that first class, the steps we learned, the music that was played. What I do remember is how I felt. Euphoric. Free. The barrier dividing me was gone, and I was enveloped in a snug, comfortable layer of wholeness. Though I still enjoyed boyish interests, I had found my niche in feminine pursuits. For the first time, I knew I was where I was supposed to be, doing what God created me to do.

I had only seen myself from one perspective until then; the whole world shifted.

**Footnote: Miss Nina is at least in her 80's and still teaching little ones a few times a week at the Parks and Rec.


This post was inspired by the prompt "begin your piece with the words, "I could never have imagined" and end it with "Then the whole world shifted" in 600 words or less. Constructive criticism welcome.

Laughter Through Tears

This is the first prompt I've really struggled with. I thought the others would be hard, but they weren't too bad. This one, though. Ugh. Not loving the result; it feels a bit forced. 

Today's prompt was "to write a short piece in which a character told a joke and a character cried. The piece has to be maximum 600 words and must be able to be read aloud in no more than 3 minutes. It is from an NPR contest called Three-Minute Fiction." Let me just say, 600 words, wha? (I squeaked it in with 597.)

My awesome hubby shoveling for the second of five times during the "blizzard" on February 1, 2011.

Laughter Through Tears

•  •  •  •  •  •

"Where is he?" she thought aloud, for the hundredth time. 

The blizzard of 2011 had been hyped up quite a bit, but for once the meteorologists were right. It was hard to tell exactly how deep the snow was since the wind was causing it to drift so much, but it was at least the foot they had called for. Duncan didn't want to leave the police station unattended in case someone called in an emergency in this weather, so he had let Stacey know he was going to wait until the Chief got back from his nightly patrol before heading out. Duncan had even offered to stay overnight at the station with him, but the Chief was a widower and used to being alone. In fact, he preferred it. Besides, Duncan had a beautiful wife to get home to. A beautiful wife who never grew used to the worry that went along with being married to a police officer. 

When she'd met Duncan, she was instantly drawn to his pensive confidence, and she melted when he looked at her with his chocolate-brown eyes. But when she found out he was a cop, her infatuation with him almost screeched to a halt. The last thing she wanted was someone whose safety she’d be worried about constantly. But his kindness and concern for everyone’s well-being won her over.

She gnawed on a nail absent-mindedly as she searched for a hint of the cruiser out the front window. Finally, the red and blue lights could be seen floating along the space that was once identifiable as a road, and the tightness in her chest released a little. She had been taking shallow breaths without realizing it, and finally let out a big sigh. 

He had scarcely come in the door when she threw her arms around him.

"Hang on, honey," he smiled. "Let me get my coat and boots off so you don't get wet from the snow."

"I don't care," she answered, kissing his cold cheek. "I'm just glad you're home. How are the roads? Did you have any trouble?"

He paused. "Actually, I got rear-ended."

"What!" she pulled back from him, his face in her hands. "Are you ok?"

He took her hands in his, squeezed and let go so he could shimmy out of his coat. Somberly, he replied, "I got a crack."

"Where? On the bumper?" 

"In my butt."

"Oh my gosh, honey..." she started. Then she saw the twinkle in his eye. "Did you just say... you have a crack? In your butt?"

He smiled.

"Duncan, that's not funny! I can't believe you! I've been worried sick about you all day, and then you show up here TWENTY MINUTES after you should have been home, and you make jokes!" Stacey's shrieking ended in sobs, and she covered her face. 

Duncan's face fell, "Aw, honey, I'm sorry. You worry too much. I just wanted to lighten the mood." He put his arms around her and pulled her into a warm embrace.

She let a few more tears fall, sniffled, then reached her arms up around his neck. After she let out a couple of big sighs as he rubbed her back, he said, "Feel better?"

Stacey nodded into his chest. Suddenly she started quivering. 

"Stace? Are you ok?"

She looked up at him with a smile and giggled, "Seriously? Butt crack?" They both laughed. "Come on," she said. "Let's go make some hot chocolate and snuggle by the fireplace."

"Sounds like a great way to spend the evening," Duncan said, and followed her to the kitchen. 

Constructive criticism welcome. This one really needs it!

Trapped

Thank God I'm not stuck in a small space. Not like I could do what my dad does. He got trapped in an elevator once, so to deal with his claustrophobia? He took a nap. Ha! I haven't been able to fall asleep on my own in years. Dammit, I hadn't thought of that til now! Need to start carrying my Lunesta around with me. Good thing I ended up at a Walmart in Missouri where they sell alcohol. Pfft! Never would have expected to hear that phrase from me. "Walmart" and "Missouri" are usually mutually exclusive from "good" in my book. Hell, I consider them downright evil on most days. Not sure I can feel that lucky about being stuck with the kinds of customers that entails, though. Should've kept driving. No, that would've just left me to freeze to death in the white-out. Guess that's looking on the positive side of my post-pregnancy bladder being so small I can't make it 100 miles without stopping. At least I didn't have to stop at one of the adult bookstores this time. Had to do that once. Clearly a squatting-only place, even more so than a bar. How pathetic is it that half the exits off I-70 across this God-forsaken state have only those and gas stations? Ugh. Reason #827 I would never move to "Mis-ery."

Thank you, Jesus, for vodka. Couldn't have gotten even those couple hours of sleep without it. Partly because of my insomnia, but mostly because these hicks keep trying to talk to me. Do I look like I speak white-trash? Please. Which is why I don't feel the least bit bad about snagging the Smirnoff. I'll pay for it later. Not like it was Grey Goose.

Ugh, the stench has started. And now that they're shutting down power at night, it's getting a little scary. Locked myself in a stall in the bathroom for safety's sake. Realized we were going to be stuck more than a couple of days overnight, and all I could think of was the horror stories of rapes and robberies at the Superdome after Katrina. Wasn't going to let Jim Bob and his brother, Darryl and his other brother, Darryl close enough to me to exchange words, much less touch me. Upside is I've taken some photos to upload to PeopleOfWalmart.com when I get home. Which should be tomorrow. Supposed to get a break in the snow today. Plows will be able to get a start anyway.

I know they're just babies and can't help it, but someone PLEASE make them shut the hell up! It's like reliving giving birth and being in the hospital. Hearing all those babies crying. Except my Emma. Never a sound. I knew before then, of course. A mother knows these things. Though I guess technically I was never a mother. Just can't think from all the noise. Need a drink. Should wait til lights out to get more vodka from my stash; don't want to risk someone finding it. When the manager locked all the food and firearms in the break room and his office so he could ration it, I followed suit and got most of the vodka before the rest of the trailer-trash figured out what was going on. Most people were more worried about their families than themselves. Guess I finally found the benefit to being solo. I'd be worried, too. It's not looking good. Can't believe the snow only stopped for thirty minutes.

Wishing I'd watched more "Survivorman". We're almost out of food. There are about 165 people in this damn place. Luckily I'm used to drinking my dinner. Been giving some girl my nighttime ration. Looks about the same age I was when I got knocked up. She'll be due around the same time I was, too. But doesn't sound like she's married. Parents kicked her out. A loner like me. For another couple of months anyway.

If we ever get out of here.

This post was inspired by the prompt "You are trapped (alone or with others) in a single location during the fury and/or aftermath of a blizzard of historic proportions." Constructive criticism welcome.

Changes

Changes

 

"Stupid New Year's resolutions," Katy thought.

She had decided to be hard-core this time. She usually just let herself run out of "bad" food, but 1/1/11 was different. She was pitching everything in her house that was unhealthy. Any unopened items would be donated to charity, but everything else was going in the trash. Her frugal side was struggling with this decision. "Really? The case of Frappacinos I just bought at Costco? They're so expensive!" So was her indulgent side. "How can I throw out this half-eaten box of Godiva chocolates my mother-in-law gave me for Christmas? It's madness!"

But toss them she did.

And she took a closer look at the everyday items she needed but knew were probably available in a healthier version. Like the canned vegetables. "Fresh or frozen is better," she said out loud with conviction, as she added them to the giveaway pile.

"What, honey?" her husband, Joe, called from the living room.

"Oh, nothing," Katy blushed. "Just cleaning out the cabinet like I talked about last night."

"Uh-huh."

Katy rolled her eyes at his clearly automatic response. Joe was watching football. He tried to pay attention, God love him, but he was in bowl-game heaven. She could have told him she was practicing a striptease and gotten the same reaction. She smiled as she thought to herself, "Enjoy it now, sweetie, 'cause there won't be much time for football next season. Assuming all goes as planned."

She turned her attention back to the pantry. It was one of her favorite elements of their new house. She knew that seemed silly, but their starter home had had a galley kitchen with so few cabinets she had to store her Crock Pot and baking pans in the basement. She actually had empty cabinets at the new house, there were so many of them. And the pantry... well, suffice it to say that the people who had built the home must have known that someday she would live here, because it's exactly how she would have designed it herself. The pantry's front double doors had shelves on the backs. Inside, there was a second set of hung shelves that swung open in front of the main, grounded shelving area. It had all the space of slide-out shelving, but without the frustration of items falling off behind or getting lost in the expansive depth. She loved it. And it was chock-full of items that needed to be health-ified.

"Let's see, what's next..." she mumbled under her breath. Bread. She knew that was safe. She'd stopped buying food with high-fructose corn syrup in it awhile ago. Though Joe grumbled about the whole wheat kind, she had persuaded him that he would get used to it. He wasn't a big bread-eater anyway. One of those people who are unaffected by the addictive power of carbs. He could buy a bag of cookies and only eat one. One. She could do that, too. One bag, anyway.

Crackers. Three kinds - half of sleeve of buttery Ritz, and brand-new boxes of original Wheat Thins and Wasa crackers. Trash, donate, keep.

Peanut butter. Sigh. Katy knew this was going to be painful. She loved extra-crunchy Jif. She knew she should switch to the organic stuff, but dang it, she liked that hydrogenated oil. That sounded gross, but really, if that's all that was in there, maybe it wasn't so bad. She checked the label. "Made from roasted peanuts and sugar." So far, so good. Well, at least straight-up sugar's better than HFCS. "Contains 2% or less of: molasses, fully hydrogenated vegetable oils (rapeseed and soybean), mono- and diglycerides, salt." Two percent or less? That's nothing, really. How many ounces are in this thing - 28? Two percent of that is only... half an ounce. Which is about half a serving. Ok, well yeah, that's a bit much.  She chucked it in the trash with a sigh.

Surprisingly, it only took about 30 minutes to go through the cabinets and refrigerator. Katy was just finishing up when half-time started. Joe whistled his way toward the kitchen.

"What the...?" He stopped at the doorway when he saw the stack of food in a box on the table. "Why is my brand new bag of Cheetos over here?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Because, baby," Katy replied, carrying the last of the junk food to the garbage. "We're going to start making healthier choices about what we eat." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. 

"We are, huh? I don't remember agreeing to that. That was all you last night in your 'We've got to make some small changes now, so we're ready for the big change next year' mood. I'm not changing anything, woman." The twinkle in his eye belied the mocking tone he'd taken.

Katy giggled. "Don't worry, babe. You don't have to do anything. Just don't go grocery shopping without me."

He flashed her an impish smile, snatched the Cheetos bag and ran around the corner toward the staircase.

"Joe!" Katy called after him, incredulous. "Joseph Martin Stephenson, you get back here right this minute with those Cheetos!"

Cackling, he leapt up the steps two at a time. He paused at the landing and looked at her tenderly. "Well, there's one thing you don't need to change. You've already perfected your 'Mommy' voice."

Katy's frown softened with the anticipation of answering to a new name this year.

This post was inspired by the prompt to grab something out of your pantry and write a short piece - using all the words in the ingredients.

  

Antagonistic Zach

 

I'm excited to offer my first link to the Red Riding Hood. I love Nichole's blog, In These Small Moments, and Cheryl's blog, Mommypants, and we've become Twitter buddies as well. So it was only a matter of time before I discovered their Red Dress Club last fall and wanted to get in on the fun, but kind of had a lot of other things going on. I was surprised how well this went considering my creative writing skillz are quite rusty, and the prompt seemed pretty challenging. I had no idea where this story was going to go and it changed directions several times even though it's really short. So much fun!!

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Antagonistic Zach

Awash in fear, Xandra's face was pallid in the rare winter Seattle sunlight. "Back away slowly," she thought to herself as the Doberman approached her with a throaty growl. "Could this really be happening?"

Dogs excite fear in many people, but not to the extreme degree they affected Xandra. Even as a baby, she had inherently sensed they were a nemesis. Fortunately, her family hadn't owned any pets, so as long as she could claim allergies as a reason not to love them, she didn't find it difficult to avoid them. Given that she had never told a soul about this heart-wrenching phobia, it was quite a shock to find that her only enemy in human form had deduced her secret.

"Help!" she screamed hopelessly, her voice getting lost in the wind whipping off the waves. "I need help!!"

Just as she reached the edge of the pier (that had only hours ago teemed with fisherman) and had nowhere to go but the hypothermia-inducing Pacific ocean, the sun reflected off of something in her peripheral vision. "Knife the dog with the fish blade!" she thought. "Let me see if I can reach it without encouraging an attack. Maybe my luck hasn't completely run out after all."

Near enough to touch it now, she slowly reached out and picked up the knife, holding it in front of her to keep the dog at bay while she tried to calm her nerves and draw upon her Navy S.E.A.L. training. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the boat. Proudly, Zach stood at the helm watching his carefully orchestrated scenario unfold.

"Question for ya, Zach. Red or blue?" Xandra asked, a possible escape plan developing in her mind.

"Sorry?" he replied.

Then before he could figure out what she meant, Xandra turned and threw the knife with the precision that one expects from an assassin of her caliber. Unprepared, Zach only had time to slightly shift to the side, avoiding a deadly hit, but still sustaining a serious injury. Vexed by the turn of events, the Dobie wasn't sure if he should attack Xandra or assist his beloved owner. Water sprayed up from the sea startling him to action, but it was too late. Xandra had stealthily crept around his blind side and was almost to her car. Yelping in frustrating, the dog could only watch as Xandra sped away, her quick reflexes and MacGyver-like ability to resolve a perilous situation having saved her yet again. Zach gripped his bleeding shoulder and vowed that next time she wouldn't be so lucky.

This post was inspired by the prompt to write a 26-sentence piece in which each sentence starts with sequential letter of the alphabet, starting with "A."