Strangers at a Party
The red pear glistened under the knife. Precise slices of pear made by an experienced hand spread neatly next to the brie. Delicate crackers completed the plate.
“I’ve never seen anyone cut a pear like that. Each slice is perfect,” I said.
He grinned. “I’m a surgeon,” he said. “It’s a matter of professional pride.”
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “experienced hand.”
The back itch was driving me up the wall. Either my wife was going to help me or I was going to confiscate one of her spatulas. As I rounded the corner of the hall with my arm twisted behind my neck there she stood. “Do you think you’re experienced hand could give me some relief here sweetie?” I pleaded. “Please, please, please!”
When the cure was worse
I knew as my hand touched her, she was ill; the skin was too scratchy for a woman who had others cook and clean.
‘Please take a seat, ‘ I said, weighing up her fee.
What they paid, told me, the truth they wanted. I reckoned she wanted expensive lies.