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Weekly Contest #370
The alarm goes, firing off the Beepie, Beep, Beepie, Beep sound I loathe. And, of course, it isn’t my alarm, it’s my husband, Clint’s. Seven a.m. on the dot. He continues snoring oblivious to the sound or my irritation. I shove him awake. He hits the snooze button. Great, I get to repeat the drill in exactly fifteen minutes.He couldn’t care less whether I ever get enough sleep. The answer is, I don’t. Beepie, Beep, Beepie, Beep. . .his fifteen are up. This time, however, I don’t acknowledge it or assist Clint with jump starting his day. I ro...
Weekly Contest #369
I regret not writing stories told of my dad’s childhood, his school days, his college years, when he and mother met and married. It was careless of me and a bit prideful, too. Careless in that being a child and hearing “Back in my day. . “ a million times and instantly being bored, eyes rolling. Prideful thinking my memory (or his) would hold through the years. Maybe we remember only the things that are really important.The things I do remember: him telling me he always wore a tie with his white t-shirts in the early 60s, dating a girl named...
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