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.”
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Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
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