Gordon, not under threat of flooding here, but The Muse refuses to stick to a set schedule and travel next week means that posting is a dubious option. Forgive. At least it’s Friday on Pluto.
Five Hundred and Three “Likes” by Jo Oldani-Osborne
Deidre clicked on the icon for Face Book with thoughtful disdain.
‘Don’t people have better things to do with their lives than to post a picture of what they had for lunch – Wow! That burrito James posted looks really good. I had no idea the new Mexican restaurant had that much potential,’ she thought as she forwarded the post to her husband, Bill.
“Look how James spends his time at work, “ she wrote in the private exchange.
“Wow,” he replied quickly, “That looks awesome.”
“Right?” she shot back at him.
“Pick you up in five.”
Stupid Face Book.
“I see ominous things in your future.” The psychic shook her head.
Randy laughed. “C’mon–this ‘tell your future’ stuff isn’t real, is it?”
POP! A flash of light blinded him, and he lost his vision. Nothing in sight anywhere.
“What happened? Where am I?” He was starting to panic.
When he could see again, he stumbled in confusion. He had four legs and a tail, and his head was eight feet above his body! Not only that, he was yellow-orange, and starving for some fresh grass.
“Last time I make faces at the zoo giraffes. They’re on to me.”
Jana jammed her eyes shut. Who calls at 6 am? Unable to resist, she lifted the blanket covering her head and glanced at the phone. No “Missed Call” on the display. She rolled over, sighing, and snuggled up to her husband.
“You gotta get up, honey,” he mumbled.
“Yeah, I know,” she said, burrowing deeper into his shoulder. “Hey – did you hear something ring?”
“I set the alarm for you,” he said. “I knew you weren’t going to bother setting yours.”
“Mine broke weeks ago,” she said.
He laughed. “See?”
Against her will, a chuckle escaped. “OK, I’ll get up.”
It had been a whirlwind romance.
She met him via an online dating site (daterichbirds.com). Several flurried emails and steamy phone calls later, he had proposed.
The phone calls were via Skype, so she was safe right?
Indeed, in person look like he did on Skype. And his conversation in person was no less thrilling than his virtual attempts.
Her children were not thrilled. A month later and mama was married. Three months later, they separated and a year later, divorced. Whirlwind, remember?
Daterichbirds exhausted, she moved onto datebeauties. No need to ever tell the truth online, hmm?
“What do you mean, cats are the masters of the universe?” Jim scoffed.
His white feline was reclining lazily on the couch. “Really? You have to ask?” It flicked its tail and let out a huge yawn, settling in for a rest. Its claws scratched the sofa, and its eyes lowered slowly.
Jim thought. He did spend what seemed like every minute refilling the food and water bowls, or brushing, or holding the dangling string. He enjoyed the process, and when he thought about it …
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Fluffy. Want some fresh caviar with today’s tuna?”
I live about two miles from I-95 the main north-south limited-access interstate along the U.S. East Coast. Its traffic counts are astronomical. Reconstruction of a complicated interchange nearby led to one of my first FFF stories, which landed me in Oz.
Well, I did get back and hurried home to Aunty Em. Which brings us to:
A Visitor by Jane Reid
Who could be knocking at this time of day? I peered out to see a vaguely familiar-looking woman. I was busy and not feeling welcoming. Still, I opened the door.
“Don’t you remember me,” she asked. “You always seemed so kind.”
Who, me? But hazy recollections of a long-ago adventure were returning. “Glenda!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“A tornado hit Emerald City. My sister and I landed here, destitute. I am came to the only person here I know, hoping for help.”
“But where is your sister?”
“She’s a star on Broadway now. It pays to be Wicked.”
Here’s mine for a Friday… (which is based on a conversation I once heard and UKIP for non-Brits is a political party whose raison d’etre is to cap immigration, abolish Human Rights, and eat roast beef and Yorkshire puddings.
Rudeness by Emma Baird
As a committed UKIP supporter, Deirdre Adams had always assumed Eastern Europeans were queued at Dover, desperate to enter the UK, ready to steal jobs and benefits from home-grown citizens.
Until that is, an overheard conversation in her Margate coffee shop.
“… thing is, we will need to go back home very soon,” the young woman confided, “My little ones are due to go to school.”
She stopped. “And?” thought Deirdre.
The woman’s companion nodded. “Yes, my husband’s a bus driver. Your kids mustn’t go to school here – you will end up with rude, disrespectful brats. Best get them home.”
Through the park they walked. They sat on a bench, ambled around the pond, then found their favourite quiet spot. Soon, they were as one, legs entwined.
“I love you,” he said. “Will you marry me?”
She looked doubtful. “Is it allowed?”
“Don’t you want to share your life with me?”
She stammered, “Yes, but – ”
He looked away. “Is it because I’m a frog?” he snapped. “Am I not good enough?”
“Of course not. I’m a frog too. Don’t be silly.” It was her turn to be upset.
They had this conversation every day.
Post coitum, omne triste est.