Everybody has a favorite uncle. Mine was Uncle Harry. He and Aunt Elsie couldn’t have children of their own, so he showered his nieces and nephews with extra attention. Their house was within walking distance of the city dump. In those days, the gate was wide open and you could go in and dig around in other people’s trash to your heart’s content.
Uncle Harry would always save me little treasures from the dump. It was mainly pocket watches that didn’t work and other shiny objects that would only a packrat would love, but still, it meant a lot that he thought enough of me to carry that junk home and save it for my next visit.
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Uncle Doug stayed with us today while Mommy and Daddy went to Parent Teacher conference. He took me and Sissy on a treasure hunt.
“You gotta dive deep if you wanna get the good stuff,” says Uncle Doug. Then, he put on a big helmet and told us to pull all the cushions off the couch. Then, he dove in with nothing but his feet sticking out. Sissy got scared.
He came out with a fist full of coins and a black disk he calls a 45. Next week, he’s taking us to the dumpster behind Toys R Us.
I love Uncle Doug!
I usually don’t read other’s stories before I write mine, but this week I made an exception. The idea for this story was already in my head, but was sent spinning down a different path, influenced by what I read at the other site.
Now, I know you’re just dying to hear what was on that 45 Uncle Doug found in the couch. Well, here it is;
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This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
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