Three Little Words

The folks at Trifecta have challenged us to write a three-word New Year's resolution.

Oh, man. I can think of a bazillion.

Finish that novel.
Drink less booze.
Go to church.
Don't overwhelm myself.
Say "no" more.
Say "yes" more.
F*cking swear less.

Hubs offered a suggestion: "Don't hit people." I didn't appreciate the implication that I'm violent, so I smacked him.

In the end, I guess I really need to:

Just do better.

Our 2013 Rap Sheet

This is a revised version of our Christmas letter. I deleted names and other personal details because I refuse to make things easy for internet lunatics and stalkers. They'll have to put in their own work like everyone else.

If you're a relative/friend/coworker/acquaintance and you didn't get our letter this year, we:

a. didn't have your address
b. never receive one from you (tit for tat and all that)
c. don't like you enough to waste the stamp
d. some combination of the above
e. all of the above

 

Aren’t you sick of braggy Christmas letters?

 

Well, this year we’re keeping it real, yo! We’re gonna tell you all the bad stuff we did in 2013.

 

Son, 13
Alias: Stretch McGee

Offenses:

• Ditched his family every chance he got on their Disney cruise over last New Year’s
• Outgrew his jeans twice
• Forced his parents to endure frigid temps (40°!) to watch his fancy footwork on the soccer field
• Sported a mustache that looks like Justin Bieber's
• Wore headphones and pajama pants all the time
• Stole every pencil in the house to draw his original comic series “McFancy”
• Committed multiple zombie homicides on Xbox Live

  

Daughter, 11
Alias: Baby Girl

Offenses:

• Only came in fourth place at the school spelling bee
• Ditched her family to spend spring break in Myrtle Beach with friends
• Had a pop star-themed sleepover birthday party and kept her parents up way too late
• Was the tiniest, yet the loudest, cheerleader on her city rec squad
• Attended a P!nk concert in Atlanta with her mom and conned her mother into buying a $5 cup of pop
• Allowed her feet to keep growing (currently size 6.5), requiring new shoes three times

Hubs
Alias: Mags

 

Offenses:

• Visited Germany and Italy three times each, Florida and Iowa; only took his wife on the Iowa trip
• Subjected his family to countless hours of country music while honing his guitar skills  
• Chaperoned his son’s field trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains, and his daughter’s field trip to Tybee Island, GA, and brought back grimy, muddy laundry both times  
• Habitually fell asleep during family movie nights and dark amusement park rides

Ivy
Alias: The Boss

Offenses:

• Didn’t finish her novel (has only written 125 pages so far)
• Let her children invite too many friends (29!) to their annual Halloween party
• Wrote posts that embarrassed her family on her blog mommydourest.blogspot.com
• Went on two girls' trips (Disney World and Universal Studios) instead of the contractually agreed upon one trip per year
• Kept saying “pop” even though it’s “soda” in the South

We hope y'all aren't too disappointed in us now that you know all our dirty secrets.

Wishing you good health, good fortune, and good times in the coming year. (Yeah, we know we said that in 2012, but we still wish those things for you!)

Love,

Us

 

Twelve Days of Crappy Christmas Gifts

This Christmas, if your man surprises you with a shiny new vacuum, don't strangle him with the hose attachment. Things could be worse, girl. Take "The Twelve Days of Christmas." Are we supposed to believe someone was so jazzed to receive 23 birds that they wrote a song about it?

Yeah, sure. I think this would be a little closer to reality.


Day One: partridge in a pear tree
When I opened the door to see the tree sapling with a little birdy on my porch, I gushed like a schoolgirl. I begged my neighbor to plant the tree in my backyard because I detest gardening. But, you couldn’t have known that. I gotta be honest, though; the partridge is kinda ugly. But, it reminds me of The Partridge Family, which reminds me of David Cassidy, who was a total cutie. So, that works.

I already had an inkling you were my true love, but this ultra-unique romantic gesture clinches it.


Day Two: turtle doves
My friends are so envious. All they ever get are roses. I don’t know where the hell I’m gonna put three birds, but I love your wacky sense of humor. Question: Was the pet store out of regular ol’ white doves? Now those are really pretty. But these are nice, too. And better looking than the partridge.

Love you!


Day Three: French hens
You're certainly keeping this bird theme going. You nut. Do you volunteer at an aviary or something? Please don’t think me ungrateful, but would it be OK if I fry these bad boys up? I mean, a girl’s gotta eat, right?


Day Four: colly birds
Is this your idea of a joke? The neighbor lady is threatening to call animal control on me. I’m a laughing stock among my friends. And I’m up to my eyeballs in feathers and bird shit. If you care about me at all, stop this insanity. In fact, just lose my number. Freak!


Day Five: gold rings
Oh, Baby. I love you soooooo much! I had my doubts after all that silly bird business, but you’ve redeemed yourself. Say, would you mind if I sell two or three of these rings to pay for my lawyer? I’m planning to sue my landlord for unlawful eviction. My lease never said anything about a limit on how many pet birds I could have.

Love you, Sweetie!


Day Six: geese a-laying
What the hell is wrong with you? What am I supposed to do with a bunch of horny geese? Huh?! Geez! Ever heard of roses? Chocolates? You need to do something about this sick addiction to ugly birds. Don’t call me until you've gotten some help.


Day Seven: swans a-swimming
OK, I can see how you might have misunderstood me. The swans are beautiful, but I don’t want any more birds—not even cute ones. Where are you getting all these goddamned birds, anyway? And how did you have time to set up that huge above ground pool in my backyard? Well, it does get pretty hot around here in the summer months, so the pool will be nice to cool off in … once I get the swans out of there.

Look, help me get rid of all these damn birds and maybe we can work things out.


Day Eight: maids a-milking
Hey, uh, eight chicks (I mean women; not more birds, thank goodness) just showed up at my door with mops. I mean, I could use some help cleaning up all the bird crap, but I live in a duplex. Don’t you think one maid would suffice? There’s something else: They brought a cow. Did you know about the cow? I don’t think my neighborhood is zoned for livestock.

Don’t get me wrong. It was a nice gesture. I think, with a few ground rules, we might be able to make this work.


Day Nine: ladies dancing
Um … so I came home for lunch to find a bunch of women doing the polka on my front lawn. I know we discussed taking our relationship to the next level, but this is a helluva way for me to meet your mom, aunt and sisters, don’t you think? I hope they weren’t offended that I didn’t join in. I’m really more of a hip-hop girl.


Day Ten: lords a-leaping
Uh, Babe ... The UPS guy just showed up with a large box of little Jesus figurines that hop when you wind them up. I didn’t even know you were religious. I guess we still have a lot to learn about each other. I wonder how much something like this would go for on eBay. They're freaking out the birds.


Day Eleven: pipers piping
Hon, I finally got my landlord calmed down over the birds, the cow and the noise complaints about the polka music. Now you send over your bagpipe-playing friends at 1 a.m.?! Some of these dudes seem pretty trashed, too. One guy bent over and … well, let’s just say he must get a nice breeze under that kilt. The neighbor lady came charging out in her robe, screaming at me. Then she took one look at your buddy's ... um ... jingling balls and high-tailed it back inside. Ha!

Ya know, if this is your way of getting me kicked out so I’ll move in with you, you could just ask.


Day Twelve: drummers drumming
Um … I don’t know any other way to say this, so I’ll just come right out with it. This isn't working. It’s not you; it’s me … OK, I guess you’ll find out sooner or later. You know those drummers you hired? Well, I recognized the guy from Sick Thicket. Didn't I tell you I used to go to their concerts all the time? Anyway, we got to talking, and turns out we have a lot in common. We just connected. No one ever means for these things to happen.

But, hey, a generous guy like you should have no problem finding someone else.

Just Put It on My Card

This week's Trifecta challenge: Write a 33-word piece to produce laughter and festive cheer.

Dashing to the stores
Those deals expire today.
Over ads we go
Drooling all the way.
Registers lit up;
Receipts eagerly signed.
What fun it is to shop until
My Visa gets declined!

Our Elf Has Gone Rogue

I wrote this story a couple weeks ago, but I added an update this morning. I decided to use this for the Trifecta challenge because it fit the prompt, and it's time someone raised awareness about rogue elves.

This week's Trifecta Writing Challenge: The entry must be 33-333 words and include the word "father" as defined below:

FATHER
a : one related to another in a way suggesting that of father to child  
b : an old man —used as a respectful form of address

Word count: 333

Our Elf Has Gone Rogue

We have an elf, but he doesn't hang out on shelves. No, our elf--Clyde--prefers the company of Barbie and her friends to books and dust bunnies. He doesn't wear any femmy red bodysuit, either. Our elf has style.

Clyde's a pimp. Not in a "bitch betta have my money" way. What I mean is he's a player. The ladies love him. (You know what they say about elves with big feet.) His girls don't even mind sharing him. The other day I overheard Barbie's trashy sister Skipper announce, "Ain't no fun if my homies can't have none." Until I discovered Clyde's proclivities toward the honeys, I used to wonder why Daughter's dolls were never dressed. Sluts.

Clyde's been with us four years now. In that time, we've overlooked LOTS of questionable behavior because, well, he's a fun guy. And he always leaves out the really bad stuff when he reports back to good ol' Father Christmas. Besides, our naughty list worthy offenses are nothing compared to Clyde's antics. We can't help but love the little dude, though. He's the life of the party, and he tells the most hilarious dirty jokes. Ever heard the gem about the elf, the unicorn and the fairy? That one still cracks me up.

Well, today Clyde went full-on rogue. I received the following photo via text this morning--no doubt from an untraceable phone:

Obviously, we feel awful for Mr. and Mrs. Snow. And abducting innocent snow children is nothing short of heinous. But where are we supposed to get $1,000,000? I could implore my loyal readers to each donate a dollar, but that would net, like, three bucks.

Why couldn't Clyde be content to poop chocolate chips or make snow angels in our flour like other people's elves? Why?!


UPDATE: The Snows returned with nary a carrot out of place. Clyde apologized, but he's back to his old tricks. Aladdin has every reason to be pissed. From what I've heard, once you go elf ...

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A Melt With Three Sides

William’s already working when I arrive. I take my place across the table and start stuffing fliers. He flashes that smile—the one that always manages to melt my insides. Geez, I sound like a lovesick schoolgirl.

I love the way William clears his throat to fill awkward silences. I love that he goes by his full name, not Will or—Lord help me—Billy. I love that he cares enough about animals to volunteer at the Animal Rescue League. And, on a purely shallow level, he’s freakin’ hot.

We have a connection. I think. On the way over here, I talked myself into making a move. Ugh! Can't do it.

 *

I worked with Jordan today. It could be wishful thinking, but I feel such a connection. Sometimes the feeling is so strong I want to scream, “Hey, let’s do this thing!” I can barely stand when there’s silence, because the urge is overwhelming.

Besides being drop-dead gorgeous, Jordan has the biggest heart. And I'm a total sucker for the brown hair/blue eyes combo. We have so much in common.

Every time we work together, I leave pissed off at myself for letting another opportunity pass. Why can't I just grow some balls? I’m scared to put myself out there again, that’s why. But I can’t go on like this much longer.

 *

“Oh, those kids,” I groan under my breath as the last volunteer walks out the door. “Gah!”

“Who?”

“William and Jordan.”

“Still no progress, huh?” Jan, my co-volunteer coordinator shakes her head, chuckling. “Maybe we outta lock them in the storeroom. Remember that game Seven Minutes in Heaven?”

“I really thought William would make a move today. He seemed like he was working himself up to it.”

“Just keep scheduling them together, Cupid,” she says. “If something’s there, it’ll happen.”

I scoop up the stuffed envelopes, turn off the coffee pot, and grab my jacket and purse.

“I don’t know,” I sigh. “One of those boys seriously needs to man up.”

#

I woke up with this story in my head. Usually my first thought is about some crappy crap I have to do, so this was a much nicer start to my day. And the prompt word seemed to fit well. Oh, and may I please have extra credit for making each perspective 111 words? Thank you kindly.

This week's Trifecta Writing Challenge: The entry must be 33-333 words and include the word "melt" as defined below:

MELT

to make tender or gentle. SOFTEN

Word count: 333

Dazzle Me

This weekend's Trifextra challenge is to write a 33-word piece including these three words:

myopic
dazzle
basin


Wanna truly dazzle me this Christmas?

Keep the diamonds. Instead, how's about you teach my tragically myopic children to use garbage cans, rinse toothpaste out of the basin and flush their @&*%$ toilet?

All That Matters

“Seriously. How much do you love this little tush?” Kay is covering the baby’s freshly bathed bottom in kisses.

“Uh-huh.” I nod distractedly, digging in a box. Since we moved a week ago, I can’t find shit. “I’m about to go buy a new toaster so I can have a fucking piece of toast.”

Kay lets out an exaggerated sigh. She hates when I swear. Sometimes I do it to get under her skin when I can’t voice my frustration with her, with our situation.

“Can you not?” She points at the baby with her head.

“She’s three fucking weeks old,” I counter. I’ll pay for that later.

*

Kay is lying as close to the edge as possible. The baby is in the bassinet beside her. I rub Kay’s shoulder, hoping my simple act of surrender will close the gap between us. She turns toward me, searching my eyes for remorse.

“I’m sorry, Babe. You know how I get when I'm sleep deprived.”

Kay softens. She leans over to kiss me. I take this rare opportunity, reaching under her pajama top. Our bodies move closer. Just as things are heating up, she stops my hand from going inside her waistband.

“We don’t wanna wake her.”

I didn't realize how much a baby would change our lives. But after three miscarriages, Kay needed this. She’s happier than she's been in four years.

Besides, that girl clearly wasn’t ready to have a baby. She’s only in tenth grade, for fuck's sake. She has three siblings—all younger. The girl's mom can barely handle them, let alone help her with a newborn. So, really, I did them a favor. Right?

On the news, their house looked cleaner than I’d ever seen it. I saw the squalor whenever I delivered their packages. During the interview, the girl barely cried over Bella. Bella. She probably named her after that "Twilight" chick. I mean, come on.

Marissa—that's what we named her—deserves better. In the end, that's all that matters. Right?

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This week's Trifecta Writing Challenge: The entry must be 33-333 words and include the word "tush" as defined below:


TUSH
buttocks (slang)

Word count: 333