prompt: crashing a wedding
my ex… well, two of my exes… girlfriend, and best friend.
i don’t really need to go into details, do i?
so, no. no wedding invite for me.
and i was okay with that, i really was.
until Jose Cuervo and i had a long talk the day they were getting hitched.
i didn’t drive… saving grace, that, as i would have wrecked, no doubt about it, no telling who i’d hurt and how bad.
i was sober enough to give the Uber driver the address for the reception – her parent’s place. i figure i told her everything… it was a rather long drive. i seem to remember the driver trying to talk me out of the incredibly stupid action i was committed to.
no, i was determined. she dropped me off, asked if she should wait. she felt sorry for me… i told her that would be nice, i’d see her in just a bit.
i was quiet… subtle… stole one of the bridesmaid’s gift bags, took a crap in it, lit it on fire, and threw it on the buffet.
then… things get fuzzy… i got beat up some, that i remember all too well… but i broke away, ran out the front, and was thankful my driver was still there.
she had the door open, i dove in, and off we went.
we started dating a few weeks later.
she’s very understanding about my lack of funds – damages, still paying them off.
and i’m absolutely sure if she and i ever marry, it won’t be announced anywhere my exes might see it.
prompt: three wishes
cliched genie, pale pink, not blue, looks nothing like the one from ‘Aladdin’, or Barbara Eden, androgynous, but yeah, harem pants, small vest, sort fez-like hat.
“you rubbed the magic 8-ball. you have three wishes, master.”
“you were in the magic 8-ball?”
“i angered my previous master most grievously.”
“your three wishes, master? i was watching “ellen”…”
“oh… can i get back to you on that?”
“whatever… rub the 8-ball.”
so, hours later…
“yes, yes i am.”
moments later, Elizabeth Warren was the Queen of the United Kingdoms of the Americas.
it’s nice having a serious bank balance… twelve figures… that’ll last me a while.
so, the good news – no one will ever be sick or infirm again. bad news – at some point, for no apparent reason, people will drop dead.
sorry, guys, best i could come up with. now, i have to go…
dinner date in Paris…
prompt: “Are you listening to me?”
he was angry.
seems he gets that way a lot these days. i’ve tried to keep him calm, happy… but in the end, there’s only one thing that will… oh, call it ‘reset his mood’.
so i get in the van, and drive him around to all ‘those’ parts of town, and he makes his choice. it takes a while, sometimes several trips, but he always finds someone.
we stop, it’s quick, no prelude, courtesy of the drugs, usually ketamine, no fuss, into the back of the van they go.
then, in the barn out back of the house…
he takes his time… he’s a perfectionist. i watch, no matter how long it takes… depends on if he grabbed one or two.
first time, i wanted to vomit, but i’ve gotten used to it.
we’re gonna get caught, sooner or later, and that won’t go well. we might not live through the arrest process.
we turn them loose, of course. we’re not killers!
he just likes tattooing abusive police officers, full body, in interesting pastel colors.
they rarely stay with the force afterward. wonder why?
prompt: inheritance – a rug
“probably braided from the crushed hopes and dreams of her students…”
my wife was not a fan of my family… my aunt Cassandra in particular.
i hadn’t expected anything from her estate, but i’d always liked the rug in her study, and now it was mine… well, ours.
“no, the crushed hopes and dreams rug went to cousin Evelyn. this is the smart-ass comments of nieces-in-law rug. that’s why we got it.”
my wife and i have disparate tastes in furnishings.
“fine, i’ll put it in my office.”
“long as i don’t have to look at it…”
so, yeah, it was a pain moving my desk and filing cabinet out – i have a very small home office. the rug itself barely fit, and then it was move furniture back in. but finally, lime-green flooring disappeared under the deep and rich earth tones of aunt Cassandra’s rug.
i was working on a story late one evening, i was tired, and i wrote ‘they’re’ instead of ‘their’.
“Edward! You made an error! Correct it, immediately!”
aunt Cassandra’s voice…
fingers trembling just a bit, i fixed it.
“thank you, auntie…”
“You’re welcome. Perhaps you should go to bed, it’s rather late.”
listening to: St. Matthew Passion – Bach
mood: okay, overall