The Frog Lady, 3
It was hopeless. Ron jumped up. He pushed through people, chairs, desks, and out the door. He looked up Marian McBride on his phone. She was real. She had an address!
He hailed a cab and gave the address to the driver.
“Show me the money,” the cabby said.
“We haven’t even moved yet.”
“That’s the frog lady’s house, mister. I ain’t driving an inch until I know you’ve got money to pay me. I’ve been stiffed by too many guys headed for that place.”
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “the money.”
The Frog Lady, 2
“The police can’t help you.” The cop leaned back and tossed his pen on his blotter.
“You have to arrest her,” Ron said. Ron struggled to remember something that would make his story believable. “She was stuffing 20 dollar bills in my shorts all during my number. I went to her table for a drink after. She must have drugged me. Go to the club and ask people. They will tell you I’ve been gone 2 weeks.”
“What would I charge her with,” the cop asked. “Turning strippers into frogs?”
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The Frog Lady, 1
“When I woke up, I was a frog,” Ron told the police officer. “I waited for two weeks before someone came along and gave me a kiss.”
“You are saying,” the police officer said, “that this woman,” he glanced at the report he had half written on his desk, “this Marian McBride, turned you into a frog?”
“Look, I know you don’t believe it. I didn’t believe it either, and it happened to me!”
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “frogs.”
I took a Segway to the pink aisle. I appreciate that the store provided the speedy little wheeled vehicles to help customers get to the distant sections of the store. Everything that was any shade of red – a color recently outlawed by the Supreme Count – was way in the back of the store.
Now that manufacturers were not permitted to create anything using any shade of red, the supplies in the store would slowly disappear. Soon no more would be available. I intended to stock up on . . .
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “the pink aisle.”
I looked again through the windows of the crappy motel where I’d landed. No one was outside in the stretch of sand between the room and the blue-green ocean. Good. I glanced back at the man on the bed. I couldn’t remember his name, but the room was registered in his name, whatever it was. That was good, too.
I wondered if I should take his keys and head north in his car. I could get a couple hundred miles away before he woke up, if my hangover indicator was working right.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “sea blue.”
At one point in my long, checkered past I went on a pottery binge. For a several years, I threw pots. Lots of pots. My house is full of bowls and jars and cups that I made myself. My favorite glaze was maybe yellow. The other day I stumbled on some tall mugs at the indoor flea market. I don’t need more mugs, but I cannot resist maybe yellow. I bought ‘em and now I’m chuggin’ down coffee from the big girl mug.
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“I want a pony.” That’s the new symbol of the unattainable, the pipe dream, the ridiculous longing for something that will never be possible. It reflects a dream of childhood, of simpler times, of purity. We want the impossible, but sometimes we make the impossible happen.
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I remember dumping rock salt in the ice around the tub in the ice cream freezer. I took a turn with my childish arms; crank, crank, crank, until exhaustion made me turn the job over to someone bigger. I was good at adding ice and salt. I was also good at snagging salty hunks of ice to suck on while the anticipation of wonderous ice cream grew unbearable.
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I notice a movement in Sammy’s sandbox. Inside the tractor tire where we’d poured a couple of yards of sand, I saw 2 horned toads. When I approached they scampered away from me, digging in.
Sammy loved horned toads and had clearly decided that some should be permanent toys in his play area. I don’t know if you have any experience with these creatures, but they stink. Another dilemma as a mother on a day when I didn’t need any more.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “sand.”
Every morning she walked the beach, just at the edge of the surf, at the point where it was neither sand nor ocean, but both. That’s where her mind could roam into the possibilities of change, the juxtaposition of what is with what was coming. It was the only peaceful time in her day.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “surf.”