Good Trade

The gravel sounded crunchy under the Fairlanes tires. Beads of sweet were gathering along my forehead, making my bangs stick to my eyes. The two men waved, and pulled away. I smiled weakly, then turned to admire the new truck parked in its stead. I was happy, and sad. I knew it was time to let go. It was still difficult. That old car had been mine for a few years. I can’t count how many times I half-heartedly decided to sell, then changed my mind. This time I followed through, and it was good. He got the car he’d been looking for, and I got the truck I needed. Good trade.

Tim Burton Nightmares

Nothing like a bad strawberry to put that cows bung-whole look on your face. Things like that keep the tears from my eyes at the seasons end. Not that I need all that juicy goodness going to my butt year round anyways.

My garden has already run it's course. Everything is pretty much the same color this time of year...crispy, heirlooms and weeds alike. As usual they say it's supposed to rain...again, and I doubt it...again. It seems to split off North or South before reaching our corner. It's been hot. I melt like gum on a hot sidewalk, or Ben Stiller in an Indian restaurant. Unfortunately, the second I enter the air conditioning, I plump back up with instantaneous water retention. The only part of me not complaining is my bust-line, the rest is screaming for a huge sale in the Big-Beautiful-Women's department to alleviate the building pressure. Brings to mind the image of Violet, the giant Blueberry, being rolled away by Oompa-loompas. Great, now I'll have Tim Burton nightmares all night. I should know better than to eat fruit before bed anyways.

8/19/2006 9:50 PM
word count 187