Maybe...

We may have renters next week... if we can get a phone number to check their recent job and rental history. Things are a little vague on the application. It's a bit of a red flag. But we've got others coming this morning to look too, and the ad will be in the paper for another week, so we're not in despair--yet. Tired of cleaning and fixing up, though.

October 14--The Thousand Islands. Bruce drove the minivan out onto the bridge. Thank god the kids had finally fallen asleep. It seemed like such a good idea when Marie had it last winter. "Let's pile the kids and dog into the Caravan and drive along the St. Lawrence River for a summer vacation," she had said, her eyes shining. He knew she had a thousand car commercials playing in her head of that happy family driving around the country having a great time. He did too. No one ever showed cranky kids bored with their toys and being trapped in their car seats for hours, or tired parents bickering about where to eat or when to stop. More than once he was tempted to just drive off and leave the three of them at a gas station somewhere remote. He'd keep Ralph the dog. Right now reality pretty much matched the fantasy. Max and Emma were sleeping, looking like angels in the rearview, Marie was knitting a washcloth and humming along with the CD playing low. "This was a good idea, hon," he said. She glanced up at him, probably to see if he was being sarcastic, and her eyes grew wide. "Oh my god, Bruce, look." They watched as the next bridge section half a mile ahead rippled and fell into the river sending cars and semis tumbling. The sections continued to drop in both directions as he stomped on the brakes. He felt the shudder of the bridge as the van slowed and he heard the sickening sound of tearing girders and concrete exploding. Without realizing it they stopped on a segment of the long span that nearly touched the ground on one of the Thousand Islands so they only dropped about eight feet but it felt like a mile. Theirs was the last section of roadway to fall and Bruce had to pry his fingers from the steering wheel before turning to comfort his crying children and cowering dog.

Write about something fishy happening behind a closed door using: cork, mosquito, nag, disguise. What I want to say is it wasn't my fault. There was a mosquito, really there was. It was buzzing and nagging at my ear. I had to leap out of bed, turn on all the lights and swat at it. I used my rolled up term paper. I spotted it up by the ceiling so I climbed up on the chair and took a swing at it but I missed and knocked over the bookcase. It flew across the room after it dive bombed me (I think it was a tsetse fly in disguise) and lit on my cork board. That's why all the thumbtacks are on the floor. Ooh sorry. I finally took a flying leap at it across the bed and mashed it into the window. I think the glass is cracked but the mosquito is dead. See? Here's the corpse on my paper. Sorry about the mess, Mom.

Now that is one creative excuse! Enjoy your day.
--Barbara