Writing My Life

Now and Then


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… more fun than fiction: Mom and the Mall Pick-up …

Yesterday Mom and I headed for South Towne Center so she could cash in on a fancy-schmanzy free gift with her Estee Lauder purchase. As we were leaving, we paused curbside to allow dozens of cars to exit the parking lot. A hot Mustang Convertible stopped even though many more vehicles lined up behind him.

I waved him on and shouted, “Go ahead. We’re really slow walkers!” Because the top was up and the windows were tinted, I couldn’t see the driver, but he stuck his arm out the window and motioned us to cross.

I yelled thanks, and Mom added, “We sure like your car!” I repeated her sentiments to make sure he heard, and the  driver hollered back something we couldn’t make out.

Still got it at 85!

As we finally got to the other side of the Mustang, the passenger rolled down the window to reveal a very very very good looking young man. The driver leaned towards the passenger’s window as well so that we could see he, too, was a cutie.

The passenger then repeated what the driver had said: “HE SAID HE’LL TEXT YOU LATER!”

I laughed and relayed the message to Mom who is a little hard of hearing, and then I added, “I didn’t know he had your phone number.”

She chuckled and then climbed into my car. That’s when I noticed her phone number printed on the back of her T-shirt!!!!

(Okay, that last paragraph is a lie, but all the rest is true. And I could have kissed those sweet guys for making her day! Thanks young men, whoever and wherever you are.)


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… in 50 words or less: The Discussion …

Gramma, carry me piggy-back up the stairs!

I can’t. I’m OLD.

You’re not o-l-d!

Yes I am.

You don’t look old.

Why don’t you think I look old?

Because of your hair.

If I had gray hair, would you ask me for a piggy-back ride?

NO!

Good bye Ms. Clairol!


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… 50-word FlashFiction: Shirley and Cindy …

The two giggled as they struggled to slip pajamas onto uncooperative 18-inch dolls.  Joy reigned until both grabbed for the flannel mini-robe.

“It’s mine!”

“No! Gramma gave it to me.”

Tears.

“They usually play well together.” The care-giver observed.

“Sisters?” asked her new assistant.

“Mother and daughter. Eighty-eight and sixty-nine.”

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