Good news! Prunes are making a comeback. This shriveled fruit has long been maligned because her name is similar to that snob, Prude. But last night, I saw a new TV ad where a group of active, young people were fighting over a bag of prunes like it was the second coming of Doritos.
My mother served our family stewed prunes when I was a kid. After reconstituting the dried fruit in boiling water, she would refrigerate the gooey conglomeration for at least 24 hours before sneaking it onto the table. I remember fishing lumps out of the purplish-brown sludge and thinking, “This doesn’t taste like stew.”
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the 100-word chef, who can constitute a story from even the most ancient, dried-up photograph, is Matilda Brady Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the ensemble of practicing fic-titioners in the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Hi, Blanche. Long time no see. What’ve you been up to?”
“Working. I got a part-time job at the boxing place.”
“Isn’t that owned by Amazon? What do you do there, package items in cardboard containers?”
“Oh no, Marge. It isn’t that kind of boxing. It’s a place where young men with firm, muscular bodies workout in silk underwear.”
“Really? That sounds interesting. What’s your job?”
“I’m a dance instructor.”
“These men dance? Like Chippendales?”
“I wish, but no. I just help with their footwork.”
“What happens if they try to get fresh with you?”
“Pow! Right in the kisser.”
Poetry, Horror, Psychological Thrillers
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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.
Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.
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AS I TOLD THE GIRL THAT I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO, THANKS FOR LAUGHING AT ME HERE TODAY.
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