Not writing, I wrote, but I overslept yesterday and then forgot to type it in last night. Well, I didn't forget but I got busy making chicken veggie soup and neglected to do it. So today you get two for the price of one, you lucky ducks.
October 19--Write about jealousy--I hate it but I can't stop it, that green snake of jealousy that coils up from the pit of my stomach, strangles my throat, and binds my teeth in a grimace whenever I see my sister Larissa. Sweet pretty Larissa, always the favored child, always the chosen one. Every year from second grade on she was May Queen, she was Homecoming Queen, Prom Queen, and every other queen or princess that was available. She was Pulaski Pickle Princess not because she sold the most tickets (the usual way someone won) but because she looked so damned good perched on the back of the pickle-green convertible.
(I think this has possibilities. Maybe our narrator, the not-quite-pretty-enough sister [as yet unnamed], will find poor pretty Larissa dead, choked by an irate but only average-looking Pickle Princess wanna-be from her past.)
October 20--Someone says, "Can I see you in the kitchen?"--When Marty said, "Can I see you in the kitchen?" Mac knew he'd done something wrong. Everyone at the table knew. The conversation hum stopped abruptly and smiles froze on six faces. Mac nodded, wiped the corners of his mouth with his linen napkin the color of pumpkin pie, laid it alongside his plate, and stood to follow his wife into the kitchen. He thought everything was going well but Marty's ramrod spine ahead of him told him different. Conscious of the eager ears following them from the dining room like eager puppies, Marty pulled Mac into the shelter of the back hall. "Do you think you could be any more blatant?" she hissed. "Wha-what?" Mac looked like a beached mackerel, his mouth opening and closing in shock. "Oh for god's sake, Mac, why don't you just dive into Sylvia's cleavage? Adam's getting furious." Mac blanched ghostly white then reddened blotchily. "I can't help myself. She's sitting right there pushing them in my face." A burst of laughter from the dining room silenced them, made them jump. Mac swept Marty into his arms and kissed her hard, running his hand over her back and up into her hair, mussing it. He felt her heart race and her breath catch in her throat. "There," he said, "that should shut Adam up." Marty smiled and picked up the tray of desserts and led the way back to their guests who greeted their return with sly looks and knowing smiles.
Nice moves, crafty Mac. He manages to ogle Sylvia's cleavage and grope his wife. See you Thursday with Jenny's critique.
--Barbara
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