I just wanted to marinate some chicken thighs, maybe cook them on the George Foreman. But there were 37 different kinds of marinades on the grocery shelf and I was having a crisis of choice. Sweet, tangy, hot, traditional – whatever that was. Maybe just some lemon and soy sauce. No. Boring. How was I going to impress anyone with perfectly flavored chicken thighs if I couldn’t choose a flavor? I was a failure at choosing marinades, I’d known it all along.

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “37.”

Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

10 thoughts on “37”

  1. I just wanted to buy a bottle of liquid foundation (not the lipstick or the eye shadow, but the pancake makeup I smooth over my forehead, cheeks, nose, & chin to even out my skin tone). I’m an Italian-American, not Ivory, no I’m darker than that, but I’m not Tawny or Caramel either. I’m BEIGE, I decided. So I stood in the makeup aisle of the Walgreen’s looking for BEIGE, but there seemed to be 37 different kinds of BEIGE. Which one am I….sandy beige, buff beige, natural beige, peach beige (what in the blue fuck is a peach beige, anyway), neutral beige, warm beige, and goddamn it if they don’t all look the same. “Do you need help,” a salesgirl in a blue smock asked me. “This is a joke, right,” I said, “an elaborate prank,” I said, “these 37 flavors of beige that all look exactly the same, someone designed this to make me have a mini-stroke or a tantrum here, right?” She looked at me like I had four heads.

  2. Remember when chips went alongside a meal? Now we have chips that are full-fledged preparations. Baked potato, chicken AND waffles, bacon mac and cheese, Caesar salad, cheesy garlic bread and mango salsa. Did you catch that? Every food group is represented now by bags of chips! Take your pick. Willy Wonka did it with chewing-gum and imagination. All Lays and Pringles needs are a spray gun and a lazy, but meticulous consumer populous and bada-bing! Dinner is served.

  3. 37
    37 different ties. 37 different socks. 37 different ways to wear ties and socks. All mundane. all enslaving. All maxamized in disgrace to decide the wrong concoction. All 37 thoughts on each catastrophe and only 37 paces to get to the sock and tie drawers. Only 37 heart beats to sort them. and only 50 words to recap the story. the end

  4. 37 a whopping 37 miles per hour? Why do people drive so low on the highway? One of these days someone going way too fast, as this person is going too are going to meet and let’s hope we are no where in the vicinity.

  5. Here it is, June 22, 2032. Five years max, I said. Now here I sit surrounded by people that leave distaste in my mouth. At a place that has filled me with disgust. In front of a cake that is too sweet for my taste. 37 Years! Happy retirement day!

  6. We’d been driving two days with the kids in the back seat; hot and churlish on Highway 37.
    Andrew looked beaten. Losing his father so suddenly knocked him for a loop.
    “Look, there’s the funeral parlour,” I said.
    In unison the girls both shouted, “I want vanilla, I want vanilla!”
    © Janni Styles

  7. “37”
    “That is quite old . You should get married and settle down with a good boy.”
    Silence .
    “There is an age to everything. You don’t go backpacking all over Europe at 37.”
    “Why not ?”
    Sigh. “I think it is quite a wierd thing to do . Especially, at your age .”
    “Age , age !! What has my age got to do with it ? I am only 37, for heaven’s sake .”

  8. Ariadne was 37 when she met Omar. It was love at first sight, at least to him since that same night, he asked her out for another date. At the time, Ariadne wasn’t that interested because Omar was seven years her junior, but his insistence made her decide to accept. It proved to be a match made in heaven.

  9. It’s been “wedded bliss” for 37 year, but I wouldn’t do it again. Not because I don’t love him, but because I don’t believe in marriage. I don’t think I ever did. It just never occurred to me to question it. I’m realizing people don’t really marry for love …

An open space for your story

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s