Tiny Tuesday (m)

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Registered: 03-25-2003
Tiny Tuesday (m)
21
Tue, 10-09-2001 - 11:13am

Tiny Tuesday (m)


This week, write a scene or story (less than 500 words) where a character finds a "message in a bottle". Keep in mind, the bottle in your story can be a container, glass, vial, flask, decanter, carafe, pitcher, jar - just to name a few.

Have fun,

Mac

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iVillage Member
Registered: 03-19-2003
Wed, 10-10-2001 - 10:27am

My TTE.(m)


This isn't quite a message "in" a bottle, but ...

TRUTH IN LABELING

"Do you think I'm fat?" Margaret set the last batch of salsa on the cabinet to cool and emptied the boiling water from the big pan she'd used to can them.

Her husband, Frank, looked up from the sandwichs he was making. "What brought that up?"

"I don't know ..." She pondered the problem as she wiped down the stove and cleaned up. "I just feel ... frumpy."

He laughed. "Frumpy, huh?" He picked up a sandwich and shrugged. "I don't see you as frumpy."

"Hmmm." She peered in the small mirror that hung above her kitchen desk. "I'm getting gray, and middle-aged, and ..." She turned and looked over her shoulder, "... my backside is spreading.

"Here, Missus Spreading Backside, I made you a sandwich." He shoved the plate toward her, gave her a peck on the cheek, and took his sandwich into the living room to watch the football game.

"Thanks." She sat down at the desk and munched on the ham and cheese while she typed the labels for the salsa into the computer. She stopped, twisting a wisp of brown hair, and said, "What if I died my hair to cover the gray?"

"Umhum ... All right! Go Ironman!"

She sighed. He wasn't listening. She punched "print" and waited for the labels to come out of the printer while she put the sandwich plate in the sink.

She heard the Budwieser commercial come on, as she picked up the labels and began to stick them on the jars that were already cooled. "Honey, bring your plate and glass in here when you're through."

She heard him let the leg rest down on the lounger as she finished labeling the first batch. "Well, don't you think I'd look better if I colored the gray and lost a few pounds?"

He set the dishes in the sink without answering. Then he picked up a jar of the salsa and burst out laughing. "Read the label," he said. "I want my woman like my salsa."

She flipped him across the back of his jeans with the dishtowel as he headed back to the living room. "You're a lot of help." She picked up one of the jars, and started laughing too.

The label said, "All natural, chunky salsa -- extra hot!"

cl-ozarker

"We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master." - Ernest Heminway

Visitor (not verified)
anonymous user
Wed, 10-10-2001 - 2:25pm

Too Cute Linda. I love the last line. Very (m)


Clever of YOU.

Wonderfully written, (as always)

Thia_d

Avatar for countrygal23
iVillage Member
Registered: 03-26-2003
Wed, 10-10-2001 - 2:42pm

Here's mine


Spring -cleaning fills my afternoon I lift the last box of dad’s things and place it on the table. The cardboard flap opens so I peer inside. I reach in and pull out an Old Milwaukee mug, which has a piece of paper in it. Pulling it out I view a photo of my dad and I standing in front of a rustic cabin nested in the mountains. I carry the 5x7 and sit down on a folding chair. Turning the snapshot over it reads September 1967. Flipping it back over, I think, I was seven years old at the time. The cabin triggers a memory.

Dad and I went camping and fishing. I remember dad putting on a squirming worm and throwing the line out. I caught the first fish. Jumping up and down while dad took it off the hook. He taught me how to skip rocks and search for all sorts of insects. I slap at the mosquitoes biting me because the stinky bug spray isn’t working. We also play hide-n-seek and dad tickles me when he finds me.

After all that walking and playing dad gives me a bath and I fall asleep during supper. Carrying me upstairs and tucking me into bed. I remember saying, “Daddy I had the bestest day ever.” He laughs and then kisses my cheek.

I awake hours later when I hear something squeaking. It sounds like someone is jumping on a bed. I leave my bed and tiptoe down the hall to dad’s room. I peek into the keyhole. I see daddy with no clothes on, on top of a lady with red hair. I think that’s not mom so daddy must be playing a bouncing game with a friend. Knowing that I will be in trouble if I get caught I go back to my room. I crawl back into my bed pulling the covers to my chin and I fall back asleep.

Later that night, a loud noise that sounds like it came from a gun awakes me. I listen and hear rain falling on the roof, thinking it might have been thunder I go to look out of the window. Lightning lights up the sky for a mere minute and I see a naked woman lying on the ground. After rubbing my eyes I look again. She is gone. I jump back into my bed and pull the covers up to hide. I hug my doll trying not to cry.

“Mom, are you down there?” asks Seth.

The question brings me back, I answer, “Yes, I’ll be up in a minute.”

I try to shake away the memory while questions nag at me like was this a child’s dream? And if it was who took the photo?

The man who had these answers is six feet under. I tear the pictures to pieces.

Photobucket

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
Wed, 10-10-2001 - 4:05pm

I loved it too, Linda (m)


As always, it was very entertaining and the dialogue was realistic. Like Thia_d said, the last line was a winner!

Mac

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
Wed, 10-10-2001 - 4:24pm

Great story, Maria (m)


I wasn't quite sure where you were going to take this one. I was curious if the little girl in fact hear a gunshot. Was that why the woman rushed from the house naked?

Great suspense! I enjoyed reading your TT.

Mac

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-19-2003
Wed, 10-10-2001 - 4:43pm

Heheheh, thanks thia.(n/t)


cl-ozarker

"We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master." - Ernest Heminway

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-19-2003
Wed, 10-10-2001 - 4:48pm

Thanks mac, have fun in the sun.(n/t)


cl-ozarker

"We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master." - Ernest Heminway

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-19-2003
Wed, 10-10-2001 - 4:56pm

Wow maria, sad message, but nicely written.(n/t)


cl-ozarker

"We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master." - Ernest Heminway

Avatar for countrygal23
iVillage Member
Registered: 03-26-2003
Wed, 10-10-2001 - 5:55pm

A plus, plus....(m)


Forgive me , it's the end of the nine weeks and I have grades on my mind LOL

What a delightful story and one many women can relate to!

Thanks for brightening my day!!!!!

maria

Photobucket

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
Wed, 10-10-2001 - 10:22pm

87 words over but here's mine (m)


Every nook in The Pewter Mug was filled with antiques; rarity a common factor but not being old wasn’t a necessity. Marcy moved through the aisles, taking extra notice when she turned sideways to avoid knocking anything over.

“When’s the baby due?” a voice called from behind.

Marcy twisted around to find a petite woman whose skin almost matched the lace shawl draped over her shoulder. “In two weeks,” she said, smiling as she rubbed her swollen stomach with her right hand.

“Have you seen the charming rattle over there?” She pointed at a glass curio across the room.

“No, I must have missed it.”

“You should take a look. I think you’d like it.”

“I will. Thank you for pointing it out,” Marcy said.

Indeed she did. In fact, she liked it so well she didn’t even ask the owner to discount the price.

“I hope you enjoy it,” she said, handing Marcy the paper-handled bag.

“Oh, I’m sure I will.” Marcy glanced around the store.

“Were you interested in anything else?”

Frowning, Marcy said, “No. I was looking for that lady?

“Oh no.” Shaking her head, the owner said, “She didn’t bother you, did she?”

“Not at all. In fact, I wanted to thank her for helping me find this. Who is she?”

“She’s Adeline Ersmond,” she said. “Claims to be a psychic but who knows.”

“Well, tell her thanks for me the next time you see her.”

Once home, Marcy filled the sink of warm, soapy water and dipped the metal rattle in it several times. She had no intentions of letting the baby actually use it but instead planned to decorate the nursery in relics of the past. As she scrubbed it with a toothbrush, she came across a latch that held the rattle closed. It was difficult to open at first but then popped open once Marcy maneuvered the latch the right way.

Marcy unrolled the piece of paper that had fallen on the kitchen counter; she noticed right away that it was written in a language she didn’t know. The message read: Dos kind hot gekummen oif'n rikhtig'n zeit, nor di khasene is geven zu shpet. As if it were a curse from a gypsy, she threw the paper down.

Later that night, as Bob kissed her stomach and talked to his future son or daughter, Marcy told him of the day’s event. He quickly ran downstairs to retrieve the piece of paper.

“I don’t know what it means but its Yiddish,” he stated.

“How do you know?”

“My grandfather speaks it every now and then when he gets around his cronies. I recognize a couple of the words,” he said.

“Do you think he can translate it for us?” Marcy asked.

“Probably. I’ll call him in the morning.”

The next day Bob called with a translation of the message. “Well, he says it means, ‘the child was born on time, while the wedding was to late’. So I guess that means you’ll need to accept my proposal now?”

“You’re kidding me?” Marcy said, chuckling into the phone.

“I’m serious. So I guess that means you’ll need to accept my proposal now?”

“I don’t know, honey. I want to make sure you really want this and not just asking me to marry you because we’re having a baby.”

“It’s what I want…I want it more than anything. Will you marry me, Marcy?” Bob said.

Marcy wiped away the tears that moistened her cheeks. “How does this Saturday sound?”

“Perfect,” Bob said.

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