The mechanic slouched against the fender. “Well, there, ma’am, seems like you need a new carborator. See this here thing? Well, it is supposed to . . .”
“Don’t explain,” Sally said. “Just make it work.” She smiled in an attempt to be charming to the horrible man. “Fix it fast,” she said.
He looked at her for a few seconds. Rubbed his chin. Nodded his head. “I should be able to get it fixed within the hour, ma’am. It will cost about $650. That’s just as estimate.”
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “don’t explain.”
She had called ahead about picking up the prescription, saying she had an appointment out of town and would be in a hurry.
“Just make positive it’s ready to go when I get there, y’know?” couching her demand as pleasantly as possible.
Now she was here, and they can’t find it. So much for planning ahead. Worse still, here comes the smiling, highly talkative pharmacist.
“Ah, Miz Aubry, about that…”
“Don’t explain!” She snapped, then quickly conjured a smile, not wanting her next prescription to contain something of unknown origin…
I used to date a guy who often said, “Never complain; never explain.” I quickly learned that that rule was for me, not him. The crabby old fart would kvetch at length about “damned liberals” and how they were ruining the country. The worst part was I wasn’t to disagree. I explains why we don’t date anymore.
First drive
The car engine cranked and then roared into life, zooming the car out of the driveway into screeching traffic. A van clipped the side spinning it back into the garden.
Recovering her breath, Ma Jones hit the instructor with her umbrella. ‘You see that’s what happens when you don’t explain.’