Tomorrow is Connie’s birthday—and it’s The Big One. This will be the thirty-ninth anniversary of the day she turned twenty-one. How she can still look so young and attractive while I’ve just gotten old is amazing to me.
What do you get for the woman who has everything? One year I got her a lawnmower, another time it was a garden tiller. She already has one of those fancy two-wheel, wheel barrows. Perhaps she’d like a new barbeque grill. What’d you think?
If this is your first visit to Friday Flash Fiction, our expert on 100-word gifts is Betty Boop Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for instructions. To rent a box in the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block, click here.
PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
Young Herschel curled his upper lip and chewed as if he were taste-testing a dried cow patty.
“You call this a feast?” Breadcrumbs spewed from his open mouth as he spoke. “I can’t believe you got lost in the deli and spent the next forty minutes wandering around looking for milk and honey. Then, you come home with week-old pizza, a salad made from thistles, and sour wine that reeks of vinegar.”
“We’re celebrating our heritage, son.” His mother feigned a wry smile.
“Oh, I remember. The Feast of Unleavened Cardboard.”
“Yes, and your liberation from electronic devices.”
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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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