Thank you to my handsome husband for the lovely flowers he hid in my office.
That fellow’s crafty wife is always causing drama
Look in her scrapbook, she tried to paste a baboon.
The fortunate guild has yet to lose a member
To her mechanical awesomeness, her cortex of doom,
The death ray she made to kill a boar last year.
How absurd her affliction; what crooked hunter
Has gone berserker between fight and flight?
An academic question of entropy–her melody, so dense
And the passion of her kissing on Halloween.
This is my new writing space, in my new office. It’s been a spare bedroom without a bed since my brother moved out, but my darling husband decided that he was tired of me writing at my little old school desk in our bathroom. It’s a big bathroom. The only real problem was the lack of electrical outlets.
But it’s done now.
We went to three Goodwills before finding this desk. I love it. It probably has a coat of lead paint, but I’m old enough to know better than to lick it.
The trio of blue-framed photos are ones that I took on my fifth grade class trip to Washington, D.C., two of the Capitol and one of the Washington Monument. My stepdad blew them up and framed them, and they’ve been in my room since I was eleven. I think they’ll go on the wall facing the door, stacked vertically.
I’ve had the rainbow Snoopy bank for as long as I can remember.
I got the name bar super cheap from work when that style was discontinued.
Then a pencil sharpener and the weird little dice roller on two feet.
We picked up the cardinal light the same day as the desk, at the second Goodwill. The top bird was missing his eye, so I suggested blinding the other poor bird so they’d match. It worked.
I can’t guess what else I’m going to put on it. Maybe that’s all.
I’ve been filling up the drawers tonight, though. I already have a craft drawer half full with glitter and glue sticks and protractors and tiny wooden clothespins that I found tucked away earlier.
The bottom right drawer contains only a shiny pink Birthday Girl sash. Don’t be fooled by the V on the name bar; eclectic is my middle name.
What do you think?
Prudence walked in the door, straight to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. The cap was off the orange juice, and she slammed the refrigerator door and screamed, “Roshan!”
He answered without tearing his eyes from the 55 inch HDTV. “You’re home already?”
She stormed into the living room and fisted her hands on her hips. “You left the cap off again, babe.”
“I’m sorry, hon. I really am this time; I just didn’t even think about it. I spent half the day at this hippie gift store shopping for Mom, and the police were directing traffic on First because of the traffic jam on the interstate, and I didn’t even think about it, I swear.” Roshan got up from the couch and went to give Prudence a kiss on the cheek. “Forgive me once more, my love? Don’t let my past define me.”
Any semblance of anger melted away, and Prudence turned her head to return his kiss. “You are too charming for your own good sometimes, you know that?”
He grinned and tousled her hair, knowing full well how she hated that. “I know it. Embrace the madness!”
“Ugh! You know I hate that! I’ve got to take a shower before we go to the engagement dinner. Work was hell today.”
“Okey doke. I’ll come get dressed in fifteen,” Roshan promised as he flopped back onto the couch.
Prudence shook her head as she ran up the stairs, stripping her work clothes off as she went. Her fiance was something else, but he always knew how to get her back to a good mood after a bad day at work. She dropped everything into the hamper and turned the shower on to heat up as she brushed out her hair. A fly buzzing around her head distracted her, and she swatted at the annoying insect with her hairbrush.
She stepped into the shower, wet her hair, and as she worked the shampoo in, she heard more buzzing. Prudence opened her eyes to a veritable cloud of flies on the other side of the shower door. She gave a sharp squeak of surprise and hurriedly rinsed the suds from her hair.
“Roshan!” she called, then again, louder, after she shut the water off. “Roshan! Ugh, I know good and well that he can’t hear me up here.” Prudence braced herself to step out of the shower and into the flies. She took a deep breath, slid the door open, and snagged a towel off the bar in her rush from the bathroom.
“Roshan!” once more, as she dripped her way down the stairs. “The bathroom–”
“Surprise!” Two dozen voices chimed, and Prudence froze. Her house was full of people staring at her, and she was naked and dripping water on the linoleum. She dropped the towel; the surprise party had surprised her.
This one is just begging for some Crowd Writing–have at it!!
Today’s Daily Post prompt:
You return home to discover a huge flower bouquet waiting for you, no card attached. Who is it from — and why did they send it to you?
If there’s no card, I’m going with the florist made a mistake.
Ian doesn’t get me fresh flowers, at my request. I’m not a fan. I have been known to call them a waste of money. They don’t last long. They add to clutter. And most of all, Kitten absolutely cannot resist their allure.
When I’ve gotten flowers, we have to keep them in our room for their own protection, which means we hardly see them to appreciate them. And it’s inevitable that Kitten will sneak in to destroy them and spill their water, whether it’s behind one of us when we go to grab a pair of socks or when Abby doesn’t shut the door all the way–usually after grabbing a pair of socks.
Maybe the problem isn’t flowers, but socks.
Okay, I’ll suspend my disbelief and assume that the bouquet really is meant for me.
It’s probably from my mother. In this case, it’s some strange flower or some special vase, if it’s not a bonus gift for something she purchased online. They’re not for any special reason, just because the opportunity presented itself. That’s how she rolls. Every few weeks I get a text that a surprise is on its way. Last time it was a 3D inflatable pool, complete with red and blue goggles. Pretty cool, actually.
If I were still making pizzas, my boss would be a safe bet. She used to send me chocolate lava cakes when my depression was bad, but there’s a florist next door now. I don’t think she’d have gone to that expense for anything but my birthday, though.
Nah. Probably just a wrong address.
Ian found me a present last night: