The Blind Date

The Blind Date

   Grandma sat at the dining table, a shot gun on her lap and her false teeth in the water glass at her elbow. It was a regular Sunday dinner . . . with the exception of the blind date.

   Brooke’s eyes were wide as she looked at her grandma across the table. “What do you mean you invited Betty’s son to dinner?”

   “He’s just back from the war,” she explained.

   “But you knew Charles was joining us.” Brooke rubbed at her throbbing temple. Why did Grandma have to choose now to be herself?

   Ding-Dong

   “Is that the bell?” Grandma asked innocently.

Great, just great! Brooke opened the door to both of the men who stood there. One held flowers. The other held a bottle of sparkling water. “Please, won’t you come in?” She stepped aside. “Charles this is Betty’s son—”

   “Jack and I have met,” Charles stated crisply, handing her the bottle as he headed down the hall.

   “Seems I’ve come at a bad time.” Jack remained on the stoop, the flowers still in hand.

   “Not at all.” Brooke smiled awkwardly, trying not to notice the twinkle in his light brown eyes. “We would love it if you’d join us.”

   Brook couldn’t help but notice how the brilliant smile he gifted her with lit up his whole face.

   “For you.” He handed her the bouquet and entered.

Feeling suddenly out of sorts, she led him to the dining room. “I’ll just go get a vase for these,” she said before she left for the kitchen.

   Grandma eyed the gifts that Brooke had placed on the table. Leaning forward, she grabbed the fake flowers in the arrangement in the center of the table and tossed them over her shoulder, replacing them with the fresh ones. “There . . . I just love it when gifts go together.”

   Charles gasped as he watched her open the bottle of water and pour it over them.

   “Do I smell Brussels-sprouts?” Jack asked conversationally when the room became too quiet.

   “They give me gas,” Grandma stated flatly.

   “How delightful,” Charles sighed in distaste.

   Jack chuckled, “I’ll just have to brave it.”

   “That’s my boy!” Grandma smiled. “Don’t let a bit of hot air,” she glanced back at Charles, “stand in your way.”

   Brooke returned with a vase in hand, noting the new arrangement. “Grandma, are you behaving yourself?”

   “Of course,” Grandma replied. “Shall we eat?”

   Brooke seated herself, noting Charles’ sour expression.

   “You know my second husband,” Grandma said, making not so idle conversation, leaning forward, and spearing a slice of roast, “thought himself a scholar. Most boring man I’ve ever met.” The shotgun on her lap suddenly exploded, blasting a hole in the wall. Startled, she knocked over her water, which splashed over the other side of the table. . . . Her teeth slid off the edge with the tide.

   Charles stood with a yelp, brushing the false teeth off his lap in horror.

   “Whoops!” Grandma hollered. “Just patched that up, too, darn-it!”

   “Well!” Charles glared across the table, his trousers soaked.

   “I’m terribly sorry,” Brooke started.

   “Don’t bother!” he interjected, tossing his napkin to the table. He stomped down the hall, slamming the door in his wake.

   Grandma glanced over at the other two. “Pass those potatoes, will you?”

   Jack grinned over at Brooke before they both dissolved into laughter.

   “Well now, you have to admire a man with a sense of humor. My last husband and I laughed together for nearly forty years.” Grandma smiled wistfully. “So how many children are you going to have?”

   “At least a dozen.” Jack winked at Brooke with a wide grin.

This was written for a 600 word or less competition.

The Heist

The Heist

   “What’s this?” Rock eyed the rust bucket with distaste.

   “A sidecar,” Damien stated the obvious.

   “What is it about getaway car that you didn’t understand?”

   Damien revved the motorcycle’s engine, grinning wider as the sound echoed through the back-alley of brownstones.

   Rock looked over his shoulder, swearing under his breath as the men standing on the corner glanced over with interest.

  “You comin'?” Damien tossed him the small pith helmet. “Diamond’s not going to steal itself.”

   “Sometimes I wonder if you’re really a boy genius.” Rock cast him a dubious glance as he fastened the chin strap and climbed into the cramped sidecar. The body of it dropped against the tires as his weight settled against the frame.

   “Who you callin’ a boy, ol’ man?”

   “Don’t push it,” Rock warned as Damien pulled back on the throttle. The old relic lurched forward, the back tire groaning in protest. “Couldn’t you have at least found a riding lawnmower?”

   Damien’s laughter was lost to the engine’s roar.

   “How much longer will this take?” Rock checked his watch as Damien attached wires to the leads in the control box and clicked a few keys.

   “Quicker than it takes your Viagra to kick in.” Damien snapped his laptop shut. The dim blue light went out leaving them in darkness. “See?”

   They both switched on the infra-red night vision goggles they wore.

   “Now I do.” Using hand signals Rock motioned for silence. They easily maneuvered past the glowing lines that crisscrossed the house. Using skills he’d honed in the Special Forces along with some he’d learned elsewhere, they arrived at the study. . . . Boy genius handled the safe.

   A moment later, Rock held the huge diamond up, weighing it in his hand. In that instant the lights clicked on, illuminating the room as two men and a woman came out of the adjoining one.

   “Excellent.” The older woman smiled before turning to the man who stood next to her. “As you’ve seen from the hidden cameras we’ve installed, there are a few glitches in your security system, Senator. With the improvements we’ve recommended, there shouldn’t be any problem with insuring your diamond with Anderson’s firm. She glanced to the other gentlemen who nodded.

   “Impressive to say the least, Mrs. Karakas.” Mr. Anderson stepped forward to take the diamond Rock offered up.

   “My boys are the best!” She beamed.

   “I can’t thank you enough,” the senator said with relief. “I can sleep better tonight knowing the problems I’ve been having are over.

   “Sure thing.” Rock smiled, he was more than aware of the problems. He’d planned them. “Now that your assets are safe, we’ll take our leave.”

   “You boys get it?” their mom asked a moment later when she joined them on the curb outside.

   “Of course.” Rock handed her the small chip that they’d come for.

   “What do you take us for, amateurs?” Damien laughed. “When the senator sells those government secrets tonight, a new version of Zombie Destroyers will reign supreme.”

   Seeing her confusion, Rock spoke up, “After they insert the altered version of the stolen intel, the new virus boy genius here has developed will take over their hard drives, making them wish they were dead.”

   “Now that I’d like to see.” Their mom chuckled. “Well done.”

   “Anyone up for a hamburger?” Damien suggested just as a red Jaguar rounded the corner, stopping in front of them. “Natasha,” he whispered in awe.

   Wearing a smug grin, Rock looked over at the younger man. “I’ll have to take a rain check. As you can see, my ride’s here, and the night is still young.”

This was written for a 600 word or less competition and I challenged myself to see how many twists I could create in that short span. . . . I only managed two. Maybe next time. :O)

The Movie

The Movie

Ah, yes, the movies. . . . Those oh so wonderful moving pictures that should be a parent’s dream when it comes to entertaining the little ones . . . not to mention romantic.

Our first experience with our little girl and the movie theater ended halfway through the film.  We’d already spilled the popcorn and candy, but when the ring our little darling had worn slipped from her finger, Mommy soon found herself crawling, cellphone light in hand, through the sticky stuff that lives under the seats.

Having made it through to the point where the golden haired beauty lets down her hair and goes through a delightful, no remorseful, no delightful day, she ends up at the local watering establishment, where the many forest dwelling local thugs and other villainous patrons have a dream. . . .

Let me tell you that, just as someone’s trash might be someone else’s treasure, someone’s dream might be a two year old’s nightmare.  We left the theater pronto, but not before the short trip to the bathroom rivaled that of the state of the art sound system.   Having lost the previously mentioned ring in the paper towel used to dry our hands, Mommy was dumpster diving while her little one sang her own rendition of . . . woe to me, who once had a ring and a dream. . . . We appeared at the door to the ladies’ room just as my husband was considering calling 911. 

All in all, it was a cute movie, and I am hoping one day to see how it ends.

Being people who obviously forget way too soon, we tried our luck once again, just a few short months later.  This time armed with popcorn, drinks, candy, and 3-D glasses, we munched happily through the hour’s worth of trailers.  Having retained our glasses, I might add, through countless warnings from the eyeglass police not to lose them, we proudly sat wearing them, oohing and aahing at the screen as the little race car went around the track.

My little darling, who is now potty trained, needs to go to the little girl’s room repeatedly. It’s more of an entertainment in itself . . . a second feature if you will.  So there we go, sliding past knees in cramped spaces and ducking as we pass in front of the screen.

This is where I get smart and put the real cool black military 1950’s styled glasses in my shirt pocket, so that nothing happens to them, and the eyeglass police will be happy.  Are you starting to sense something here???   I leaned over to assist in the process and bingo the glasses slid from my pocket into the potty, and the automatic flushing mechanism did the rest.

I actually reached in after them, but to no avail. They were, as they say, gone the way of the dodo . . . as in history.  My three year old is now asking as I shake my hand off if I’m alright and wondering why I just did such a gross thing.   Now, any Mommy worth her salt is not going to admit that she’s just managed to flush those spectacularly flattering glasses down the potty, especially after the dumpster diving episode comes to mind. . . .

After washing our hands . . . in my case scrubbing, I gave her the pair of glasses off my head like they were hers all the time.  Slick!  I’m thinking as we return to tell the eyeglass police we need another pair.  I did consider watching the rest of the movie without the super duper 3-D glasses, but the screen upon my return was so blurred I figured I really had to confess.  Daddy just looked at me with not even an “I told you so” as he gifted me his own pair and went in search of another. 

The movie yielded three more potty trips, where I willingly gave the glasses to the keeper of eyeware, and we even made it up until the point where the evil lemon makes his nefarious plan known.  ‘Wha-ha-ha- he-ha!”  We were outta there like we had a dream chasing us after that, I tell you. 

I’m fairly certain the audience didn’t applaud our departure; although, I did hear a collective sigh as we closed the theater door. Daddy’s eyewear watching duties over for the time being, we high fived one another for having made it even further than the last time on our way to get frozen custard. 

You’d think we’d be cured from the process, but Daddy’s favorite saying these days is that the difference between a dream and a goal is a plan. . . .

The plan now is to not enter the theater until the trailers are over, and we’ve already gone potty, and to keep the glasses neatly stored away or handed over to the eyeglass police because it would be great to actually be able to watch one of these really cute movies at some point in the future and not threaten modern society or its plumbing . . . not to mention romantic.    :O)  

Trouble in the Fields

I ran across this the other day, and it made me laugh. I had written a “newspaper” for a play that took place in the Old West. I could have filled the space with xoxo’s or blah, blah, blah, Ginger, ha-ha (one of my favorite Far Side jokes). But instead, I filled it with nonsense . . . articles based on my version of westward expansion and modern plumbing. Yes, those were the days, (before my little one was born) when armed with a glass of wine and a blank computer screen, I was entertained for the evening. I hope this gives you a chuckle as well.

TROUBLE IN THE FIELDS

“I thought at first it was those renegade Indians,” says a reliable source about Farmer Hodwart’s recent troubles. “Them cows were up to no good, I reckoned.”

It happened, however, that the cows which were missing late Saturday night showed up the following Monday morning. Though their disappearance was strange, Farmer Hodwart is more concerned about the green florescent glow that emanates from their once brown and white coats. He has no notion as to why they are exhibiting these signs but thinks it might be due to the lights he has seen frequently in his fields late at night.

“Mighty strange they are too,” he says in regards to the silvery disk that he has seen floating above the trees on some evenings. “I don’t much mind them,” he continued speaking of the lights, “or the little green men.” It is, however, quite disconcerting when that bossy cow Bessie demands oats at every feeding. And when he tries to contain the herd, she frequently orchestrates a rebellion. “It’s bad enough with the missus,” says the beleaguered farmer. “But there is no peace to be had now that cows fly, and I can only hope that they’ll come home.”

The iPhone...

The iPhone...dun...dun...dun!

If you've ever navigated the threads at Amazon you'll appreciate this ancedote. :O)

I’ve discovered that I may not be in complete control of my iPhone. It takes me to places unknown. I’m not sure if it’s me or if the small device has developed its own interests.

It has a feature that allows me to enlarge or shrink the screen for easy viewing, but when I employ this seemingly innocent effect it does things. . . .

One day I even found that comments from a particular person were being blocked from my screen on one of the threads. What??? How did that happen? The uppity device then had the audacity to inform me that I was now ignoring her, which I wasn’t.

Luckily, I was able to set that straight, but it often wants me to turn myself in for abuse. Can you imagine?

As if that weren’t enough, it has shunted me off to cyberspace on several occasions. The little instigator even popped me into another thread altogether once.  Was this Kansas? I wondered as I read . . . Alien blood and guts were flowing, as I back peddled to safety.

My iPhone must have made friends there, however, because I keep getting messages that no matter how many times I go in and stop tracking, it will not. I’m beginning to suspect that my e-mail is now in cahoots with this small hand held device. I tell you, it’s scary. My inbox looks like Steven King lives there.

And on occasion, my laptop joins in this fracas, distorting my cleverly placed dot, dot, dots . . . with, iK, when I paste my documents. I ask you, would you put up with this?

I say, if you’re going to take the words out of my mouth, at least do it with some eloquence!