Jenny gave us a Christmas prompt.
I am not in the Christmas spirit this year.
No chestnuts roasting on an open fire.
So I didn't write my story Saturday.
Guess I'll show her.
Then it happened yesterday.
I was in WalMart.
I know, I know.
I don't like to go there either,
but I could go there without showering,
fixing my hair or changing out of
my sweatpants and dirty t-shirt.
it is the only store that sells the
industrial size bucket of peanut butter.
Creamy, in case you were wondering.
So there I was in WalMart,
minding my own business...
just me and Peter Pan.
When what to my wondering ears
The sounds of Christmas!
It was true...
there was a FIGHT right there on the
dog treat, sanitary napkin, potato chip aisle!
It started out with the raised voices of
one lonely white trash man
and one desperate white trash woman.
But before long...
they had recruited the help of both
of their dysfunctional families
until it turned into a huge redneck brawl!
the holidays had arrived for me!
It was an early Christmas present from WalMart.
I was inspired.
I snatched up my 50 gallon drum of peanut butter
and headed home to write.
Let me take a moment to call attention to one thing.
Jenny won't allow us to use naughty words in our stories.
I just used the word snatch in my introduction!
Snatch, snatch, snatch!
I used Jenny's writing prompt,
"the bin of tangled up holiday lights"
in my 100 word story.
Did anyone else but me notice that Jenny
used the term "holiday lights"
instead of Christmas lights?
I'm calling Glenn Beck, Jenny!
I'm calling him up at the mental asylum right now!
So have you been to WalMart?
Are you inspired to write? To read?
Join us at Saturday Centus!
Here is my inspirational contribution for the week.
The writing prompt will be in italics.
It would be our last Christmas together.
I knew it.
It made me sad to think about it.
Christmas will be lonely next year.
Tonight was the final tree trimming.
Christmas tree decorating had become a dysfunctional family tradition. It began happy and festive, but always went downhill with the strands of tangled holiday lights.
Tempers would flare. Fingers would be pointed. Spirits would be imbibed. Less than festive words would be shouted. Ornaments would be broken.
But it wouldn’t happen again.
Next year I will be decorating the tree alone…
and his lifeless body will be in the bin of tangled up holiday lights.