The last post for this batch: Something FOUND, Something WRITTEN, and Something MADE.
I tried to incorporate all 30 of your two-word suggestions from the last post into a cohesive story. 😀
Thank you, everyone!
“It’s not a big deal,” he said.
“Yes, it is.”
At 54 she had had her share of baking disasters, but she couldn’t remember ever having made such an icky sticky mess before. Her thoughts had been elsewhere… on tomorrow’s long flight.
The full moon hadn’t helped either.
He came over and stuck his finger in the sugary ant trap (with a lemon twist, no less!), tasted her disaster, then gave her a sticky kiss. “I’m turning on the talking fish*,” he said and left the kitchen. She tried to smile.
He shuffled into the den and settled into the couch next to their softly snoring dog. He loved their dog, but he missed kitty purrs too — they had had to euthanize their 12-year-old cat last Spring, and she had been so sweet, so funny…! Bone, the dog, sighed loudly, the betrayal not lost on this sensitive soul. “Don’t worry, I like you too,” he said, scratching Bone’s ear and turning his attention to the home fire on the screen.
She was scraping the dessert into the trash when suddenly she was furious. At what? Or who? Her lost friends? Her husband? The fact that it was almost fall and it was nearly time to make the house blanket ready (one of her least-favorite tasks)?
She made her decision.
“When are we going to replace these ugly tiles?” she nearly yelled. “And what’s with these stains on the counter?”
He stood calmly at the doorway. “It’s time to get packed so we will be on time in the morning,” he said, hoping this minor smoke screen would do its job. (Why his water spills keep turning brown, he didn’t know, but he was pretty sure that an effort to defend himself right now would be futile.)
It had been so long since she had gotten so upset; still, if he were given three wishes he would use them all to eradicate these unhappy time wasters.
As fast as the irritation arose, it disappeared. She was grateful for her husband and his tolerance of these irrational flareups… menopause really did suck … and she decided to accept his invitation and fall forward into his outstretched arms.
The next morning he waved goodbye as he pulled away from the curb. “Travel safe!” he called out, and she was gone. “Airplane runs are always too early,” he grumbled as he turned onto the freeway and headed for home.
But then he felt a stab of excitement… he would get an early start to his day… get some breakfast, read the paper, work….
All was well, wonderful things were happening.
*”Talking fish” is their private joke — a nickname for television newscasters.
Have a wonderful rest of summer! Thank you again for reading these posts and I’ll be back with another batch soon enough. 😀