Sweater Weather #FlashFictionFriday

Her cheeks were pink, her nose red and running.  She sniffled against the back of her glove and grinned stupidly.

“Why are you so happy?” Bridgette grumbled.

“It’s sweater weather!”  Becca danced in a circle and pulled at the frumpy shape that laid across her frame, it was a kaleidoscope of browns and greens and a god-awful yellow color that only came in yarn.

“And that’s a good thing because?”

Becca nudged her and pointed her nose toward their neighbor.  She caught sight of Katrina, who just last week brought her garbage down wearing a bikini top and booty shorts.  Today, Katrina was smartly dressed in knee high boots, leggings, and a chunky tunic sweater.  Career Barbie would like to look that good.

Becca whispered, “Now we finally have a chance with the hottie in 2B.”

“Mmm.”  Bridgette mumbled and wondered if it was possible to have too much self-esteem…

The Rain

I love the sound of rain when I am inside. The way it beats against the skylights is hypnotic.  I love how the light changes, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere.  When I’m inside…

When I’m outside, it’s my enemy, turning my clothes into a claustrophobic restraint, my hair into, well, it’s not pretty.  And my shoes…  No one should have to wear rubber boots, and yet no pump should die from water torture.

Winter is coming… #WTFWednesdays

Winter is coming…

And with winter comes really bad commercials about purchasing expensive and unnecessary presents.  (Although I really do want the Red Rider BB gun with the compass in the stock and the thingy that tells time.)  Walking into my favorite store to purchase copious amounts of fun-sized candy I had to pass by the Christmas decorations to find the Halloween decorations.  Sheesh.  They don’t have “Thanksgiving” decorations out yet, I suppose they’ll take the place of the Halloween stuff once it’s consolidated on the clearance aisle.

Anyway, since I’m doing ManCandyMondays and FlashFictionFridays I thought I’d do WTFWednesdays.  Today’s WTF is regarding the commercials targeted to women encouraging us to purchase personal grooming (nose trimmers) for our significant male partner.  It’s a personal groomer.  Personal… as in buy for yourself.  So just because my husband’s eyebrows are long enough for a comb-over, I would NEVER purchase something that personal.  I love my husband, Brezhnev eyebrows and all.

WTF?  Do marketing people really think this through?  They should be targeting men.  Women already shave too many bits as it is.  Marketers must believe our self-depilating tendencies will translate to ridding our partners, our children, heck, even the dog of extraneous hair.  I’m not saying it isn’t a fine product or that people don’t need to shave their nose hair because we’ve all been there, talking to someone but our eyes are trained to the nasal follicular monstrosity that waves in front of us.  I’m simply suggesting that a personal nose trimmer would not be a reasonable or wanted holiday gift to a loved one.  Maybe the office gag gift… but I still prefer Chia pets. ­­

Ahhh #Nanowrimo I am ready for you this year…

A few months ago one of my authorly friends who is working on an amazing project called “Ink Outside The Box” to give authors ideas to write stories had us try a few and… I was obsessed with my writing prompt.

So, this year I shall write a SciFi story for Nanowrimo as Doyle MacBrayne. If you are a fellow nanowrimo person you can find me, my story title is “Just SciFi, No Sex” because my writing group thought that was humorous.  Yes, the erotic writer is taking a short vacation in order for the other parts of her brain to be activated.  Bummer, eh?

I spent the evening plotting and plodding and I’m really excited…  Seriously!  I’ve even played with cover ideas.  What do you think?

Just SciFi, no sex

The Closet #FlashFictionFriday

The sirens blared, but she didn’t need to hear them to know what was coming.  The sky was grey, then green, the trees reaching toward the house, their green leaves plucked from the branches.  The thunder was deafening, rattling the glasses in her cabinet and followed by sudden barrage of hail against the aluminum siding.  Hunkered in her closet she waited and prayed, not for herself but for the baby, six weeks old that lived across the street.  The storm relented and she ran to her door dumbfounded at neighbor’s house.  The front wall was peeled back, giving it the illusion of a doll house.  Inside, she watched as the family emerged from the closet under the stairs.

They had no home, no electricity, but they were alive and that was everything.