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.”

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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