PROMPT: Action always trumps inaction
From @wordstrumpet
The elevator doors opened and he stepped in. Somehow they rode the same elevator to the 57th floor together at least three times a week. It didn’t make sense how often it happened. It was the morning rush, there were 12 elevators. Yet somehow they always ended up on the same one- more often than not with no one else. They had spoken. It was more than just a brief ride to her floor. He went even higher to floor 64. It was one of the things they had actually said.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“So Friday.”
“Yeah, finally.”
It never stopped being awkward really. They always started out this way. Usually commenting on the day of the week or the weather. They both watched Game of Thrones, but it wasn’t airing right now, so those conversations had stopped. Often, it flowed into something a little more substantial though.
“Good week?”
“Not bad, you?”
“Well, on the one hand I closed a deal I’ve been working toward for months. On the other hand, It was the most atrocious last week of a deal I’ve ever experienced.”
She laughed. “I’m sorry. So mixed then?”
“Yeah you could say that.”
“Got any weekend plans?”
Last they talked about it, he hadn’t been in a relationship. But sometimes she fished.
“Uh… so far what I’ve got planned is sleeping and grilling.”
“That sounds good.”
“Can’t complain. What about you?”
“Well I was supposed to be going to the ballet with a friend, but she backed out this morning.”
“Oh yeah, which one?”
“Giselle. You know it?”
“Yeah that’s a great one.”
She hadn’t meant to steer the conversation here, but there was suddenly a lull. She hadn’t thought they would ever move past elevator buddies. He had never seemed interested. She considered quickly, nervously.
“Hey. Would you want to join me?”
He smiled at her. “I’d love to.”
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Monday, March 4, 2013
Day 27
PROMPT: Use the phrase, "That seems like an exaggeration."
From Toasted Cheese
“I swear,” she walked in, slamming the door behind her, “I will murder that man.”
“Bad day?”
“It’s like he does it on purpose just to screw with me.”
“Yeah, maybe start from the beginning?”
She sighed and sat down at the table with me. “What are you eating?”
“Pasta.”
She stared at me, temporarily defeated as she took a break from her outrage. “Want some?”
She pouted at her problems for a few moments before getting a bowl and fork and serving herself from the pot still sitting on the stove. I wasn’t a huge fan of being friendly with roommates, but Leanne had a tendency to get worked up and need to blow off some steam sometimes. It had no bearing on our relationship, it only maintained peace in the apartment. Besides, it didn’t much matter what I said to her.
“So you were saying?”
She was suddenly angry again, as if she’d needed reminding of her preoccupation from two minutes ago.
“Oh! So I’ve been working on this project at work for a couple of months now, right? I like to be a team player, Mandy, you know that.”
“Let’s say I do.”
“But, like, sometimes you just have to say, you know, I am not the right person for this job. And I said that two months ago and this guy supervising me was like ‘Ooooh, you’re perfect at it, just do what feels right, I’m sure you’ll do a great job.’”
“Sure.”
“Meanwhile, I’ve work on it for two months with, like, totally no guidance and show it to him and now he decides this isn’t at all how he wanted it and I need to make changes according to what he didn’t tell me originally,”
“That sounds really annoying actually.”
“And! I’m still kind of under-qualified for the project anyway and it’s like he’s making me do it just to torture me so that later he can point at me and laugh and say, ‘There goes the girl who spent a year doing busy work just to be my source of entertainment!’”
“That seems like an exaggeration.”
“And the worst thing-“
“Oh boy.”
“Is like I was going to go out tonight but now I have to be in early tomorrow. “
“Okay, we’re done here. Good luck!”
From Toasted Cheese
“I swear,” she walked in, slamming the door behind her, “I will murder that man.”
“Bad day?”
“It’s like he does it on purpose just to screw with me.”
“Yeah, maybe start from the beginning?”
She sighed and sat down at the table with me. “What are you eating?”
“Pasta.”
She stared at me, temporarily defeated as she took a break from her outrage. “Want some?”
She pouted at her problems for a few moments before getting a bowl and fork and serving herself from the pot still sitting on the stove. I wasn’t a huge fan of being friendly with roommates, but Leanne had a tendency to get worked up and need to blow off some steam sometimes. It had no bearing on our relationship, it only maintained peace in the apartment. Besides, it didn’t much matter what I said to her.
“So you were saying?”
She was suddenly angry again, as if she’d needed reminding of her preoccupation from two minutes ago.
“Oh! So I’ve been working on this project at work for a couple of months now, right? I like to be a team player, Mandy, you know that.”
“Let’s say I do.”
“But, like, sometimes you just have to say, you know, I am not the right person for this job. And I said that two months ago and this guy supervising me was like ‘Ooooh, you’re perfect at it, just do what feels right, I’m sure you’ll do a great job.’”
“Sure.”
“Meanwhile, I’ve work on it for two months with, like, totally no guidance and show it to him and now he decides this isn’t at all how he wanted it and I need to make changes according to what he didn’t tell me originally,”
“That sounds really annoying actually.”
“And! I’m still kind of under-qualified for the project anyway and it’s like he’s making me do it just to torture me so that later he can point at me and laugh and say, ‘There goes the girl who spent a year doing busy work just to be my source of entertainment!’”
“That seems like an exaggeration.”
“And the worst thing-“
“Oh boy.”
“Is like I was going to go out tonight but now I have to be in early tomorrow. “
“Okay, we’re done here. Good luck!”
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Day 26
PENALTY! I don’t have a good excuse for missing yesterday. I wasn’t in the mood and thought “hey, 1000 words isn’t actually a big deal. I go over 250 all the time, so naturally that’s the same.” As fate would have it, I’m not really in the mood today either and 1000 words seems endless to me.
PROMPT: Some relationships aren’t simple enough to be classified as painful or joyous. Writing about a complex relationship is… well, complex. Give it a shot.
From http://www.writingforward.com
I remember when it was simple. Every time I see you I think about it. When we were kids it was like the easiest thing in the world. We would spend every day off together. We would play games in your backyard or watch movies that we weren’t old enough to comprehend. I would be embarrassed to ask what things meant, but you usually told me anyway.
When we got older you had more guy friends. There were things you didn’t tell me about what they said. You were probably embarrassed. I was too curious to worry about how I would feel if I actually knew what the boys were saying about me. You never said, but all these years later I can guess. It was a little more complicated, but I could always count on you. Even in middle school, when we didn’t talk much because I was younger.
We were closest, ironically, when I was away. We scheduled times to talk to accommodate the time difference. I don’t think I’d ever spoken to you on the phone for more than five minutes, but while I was away we spoke for hours at a time. I knew all about what was going on in your life. You would let me rant about inconsiderate roommates and say something fair and level headed.
I never wanted to be ‘that girl,’ but things really did change when you started dating someone. I’m told over and over how lucky I am that I’m friends with her too. I know it. But there were times back then when I wished she would have been jealous of our bond and our history. I tried not too be too dramatic about it, but I would imagine all of these long-winded speeches that would end up sounding weird and possessive, a little like this. You’re lucky you’re the level headed one.
Still, we had our moments. TV nights at one of our apartments, dinners out because one of our parents had bought us a gift card, sporadic moments when it happened to be just us. It wasn’t that I couldn’t share you. It was that I couldn’t lose you. And no matter how many reassurances you gave me, that was what was happening. When you confided in me, I felt like I had stolen a secret.
I almost told you my secret once. I think about that conversation a lot. We were on a couch at your girlfriend’s apartment. She was taking a nap. I don’t know if we played cards, but it seems likely. I wonder if you remember it sometimes. Maybe when you see me and think about that part of my life. You gave me the perfect opening, but I didn’t think it was fair to tell you. I didn’t think it was my secret to tell. But I was wrong. It is. And now I’m not sure that opportunity will ever come up again.
I hate making it seem depressing. Because it’s not that way most of the time. We can still talk for hours, I’m sure, given the chance. We still have the same taste in almost everything. One of our friends once pointed out that I laugh harder when I’m with you. I think that’s still true.
I have a love/hate relationship with seeing you these days. Most of the time you’re with a big group of friends and I feel left out in that circle. I’ve thrown around a hundred reasons why I don’t feel comfortable with that group of your friends, but I don’t think I’ve ever really been able to put my finger on it. It’s not that everyone is engaged or married, which is what my mom thinks. It isn’t that they’re weird. I won’t say who says that, but I bet you could guess. I think about it a lot and talk to almost everyone about it. They all have their own thoughts. I worry that it’s just that I don’t fit anymore.
We still see each other a fair amount. Once every month or so. Not nearly as much as we used to, but we live in different places now. We’ve talked about reinstating a phone schedule. We’ve talked about meeting for dinner. The truth is that when I spend time with you lately I feel like we’re just catching up on small talk and major bullet points. We can spend hours reminiscing about the past, but I wonder if we’ll still be talking about high school in five years. Or are we forming new memories and I’m missing it? I don’t remember how many breakdowns I’ve had in front of you. I can’t say for sure how many times I’ve made you promise that we’d stay friends forever. What kills me is that I’m blaming the stage of life you’re in, but I’m the one who is putting in a distance. Neither of us was ever very good at making plans. I used to never say no to you when you asked if I wanted to do something. Lately all I want to do is say no. No to the ‘whole gang.’ No to taking a day trip into your new life. I’d prefer if you could take the train back into mine for an afternoon.
Is that selfish? Maybe. But I’ve been towing along behind you for several years now. Saying no was just cutting the rope so that I could have both feet on the path I was already on. I like my path. It feels right. Focusing on working. Not worrying about whether my soul mate is waiting right around the corner. Not listening to people say that they want me to find the same happiness they found. It’s too much for me to handle.
You’ve never been guilty of that. Level headed. Low pressure. Judgment free. And the more ‘together’ your life has gotten the more of a nut basket I feel like. That’s part of it too I think. I don’t think of myself as overdramatic until I try to analyze our relationship and I hate that side of myself. It feels stupid and one-sided. Friendships come and go. I feel like I’ve learned that by now. But we said we’d never do that.
PROMPT: Some relationships aren’t simple enough to be classified as painful or joyous. Writing about a complex relationship is… well, complex. Give it a shot.
From http://www.writingforward.com
I remember when it was simple. Every time I see you I think about it. When we were kids it was like the easiest thing in the world. We would spend every day off together. We would play games in your backyard or watch movies that we weren’t old enough to comprehend. I would be embarrassed to ask what things meant, but you usually told me anyway.
When we got older you had more guy friends. There were things you didn’t tell me about what they said. You were probably embarrassed. I was too curious to worry about how I would feel if I actually knew what the boys were saying about me. You never said, but all these years later I can guess. It was a little more complicated, but I could always count on you. Even in middle school, when we didn’t talk much because I was younger.
We were closest, ironically, when I was away. We scheduled times to talk to accommodate the time difference. I don’t think I’d ever spoken to you on the phone for more than five minutes, but while I was away we spoke for hours at a time. I knew all about what was going on in your life. You would let me rant about inconsiderate roommates and say something fair and level headed.
I never wanted to be ‘that girl,’ but things really did change when you started dating someone. I’m told over and over how lucky I am that I’m friends with her too. I know it. But there were times back then when I wished she would have been jealous of our bond and our history. I tried not too be too dramatic about it, but I would imagine all of these long-winded speeches that would end up sounding weird and possessive, a little like this. You’re lucky you’re the level headed one.
Still, we had our moments. TV nights at one of our apartments, dinners out because one of our parents had bought us a gift card, sporadic moments when it happened to be just us. It wasn’t that I couldn’t share you. It was that I couldn’t lose you. And no matter how many reassurances you gave me, that was what was happening. When you confided in me, I felt like I had stolen a secret.
I almost told you my secret once. I think about that conversation a lot. We were on a couch at your girlfriend’s apartment. She was taking a nap. I don’t know if we played cards, but it seems likely. I wonder if you remember it sometimes. Maybe when you see me and think about that part of my life. You gave me the perfect opening, but I didn’t think it was fair to tell you. I didn’t think it was my secret to tell. But I was wrong. It is. And now I’m not sure that opportunity will ever come up again.
I hate making it seem depressing. Because it’s not that way most of the time. We can still talk for hours, I’m sure, given the chance. We still have the same taste in almost everything. One of our friends once pointed out that I laugh harder when I’m with you. I think that’s still true.
I have a love/hate relationship with seeing you these days. Most of the time you’re with a big group of friends and I feel left out in that circle. I’ve thrown around a hundred reasons why I don’t feel comfortable with that group of your friends, but I don’t think I’ve ever really been able to put my finger on it. It’s not that everyone is engaged or married, which is what my mom thinks. It isn’t that they’re weird. I won’t say who says that, but I bet you could guess. I think about it a lot and talk to almost everyone about it. They all have their own thoughts. I worry that it’s just that I don’t fit anymore.
We still see each other a fair amount. Once every month or so. Not nearly as much as we used to, but we live in different places now. We’ve talked about reinstating a phone schedule. We’ve talked about meeting for dinner. The truth is that when I spend time with you lately I feel like we’re just catching up on small talk and major bullet points. We can spend hours reminiscing about the past, but I wonder if we’ll still be talking about high school in five years. Or are we forming new memories and I’m missing it? I don’t remember how many breakdowns I’ve had in front of you. I can’t say for sure how many times I’ve made you promise that we’d stay friends forever. What kills me is that I’m blaming the stage of life you’re in, but I’m the one who is putting in a distance. Neither of us was ever very good at making plans. I used to never say no to you when you asked if I wanted to do something. Lately all I want to do is say no. No to the ‘whole gang.’ No to taking a day trip into your new life. I’d prefer if you could take the train back into mine for an afternoon.
Is that selfish? Maybe. But I’ve been towing along behind you for several years now. Saying no was just cutting the rope so that I could have both feet on the path I was already on. I like my path. It feels right. Focusing on working. Not worrying about whether my soul mate is waiting right around the corner. Not listening to people say that they want me to find the same happiness they found. It’s too much for me to handle.
You’ve never been guilty of that. Level headed. Low pressure. Judgment free. And the more ‘together’ your life has gotten the more of a nut basket I feel like. That’s part of it too I think. I don’t think of myself as overdramatic until I try to analyze our relationship and I hate that side of myself. It feels stupid and one-sided. Friendships come and go. I feel like I’ve learned that by now. But we said we’d never do that.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Day 24
PROMPT: That’s not the surgery he was supposed to perform.
From Rawdogsscreaming.com
As far as I can remember, I had always wanted to be a doctor. My friends would change their minds about their futures on a daily basis, but I was consistent from a very young age. So, I had spent my high school summers and free time at college, shadowing surgeons, interning at doctors’ offices and working in labs. Some people were kind enough to take me under their wings. I got to observe surgeries, talk to patients, and anything else that an arbitrary code determined was ethical.
I was in the room right after an amputee came out of surgery. He was still under anesthesia, but it was one of the highlights of my shadowing. It’s a unique opportunity to get to see the results of a surgery right before your eyes. I stood in the side, talking to a med student as the doctors and nurses moved around the unconscious patient. “That’s not the surgery he was supposed to perform.”
Every eye in the room shifted slowly to the source of the voice. A nurse was standing at the foot of the bed holding the patient’s chart and staring at the amputated. It was completely silent for probably a full minute. The attending doctor broke the silence. “What?” The nurse looked stricken. I couldn’t blame her. Being the messenger of this news wasn’t an enviable task. She answered slowly. “He… The patient’s right arm was amputated. It was supposed to be his left.” More silence. The med student I had been talking to tugged my sleeve. And we slipped out the door. “Trust me,” he said, “You do not want to be there when that patient wakes up.”
From Rawdogsscreaming.com
As far as I can remember, I had always wanted to be a doctor. My friends would change their minds about their futures on a daily basis, but I was consistent from a very young age. So, I had spent my high school summers and free time at college, shadowing surgeons, interning at doctors’ offices and working in labs. Some people were kind enough to take me under their wings. I got to observe surgeries, talk to patients, and anything else that an arbitrary code determined was ethical.
I was in the room right after an amputee came out of surgery. He was still under anesthesia, but it was one of the highlights of my shadowing. It’s a unique opportunity to get to see the results of a surgery right before your eyes. I stood in the side, talking to a med student as the doctors and nurses moved around the unconscious patient. “That’s not the surgery he was supposed to perform.”
Every eye in the room shifted slowly to the source of the voice. A nurse was standing at the foot of the bed holding the patient’s chart and staring at the amputated. It was completely silent for probably a full minute. The attending doctor broke the silence. “What?” The nurse looked stricken. I couldn’t blame her. Being the messenger of this news wasn’t an enviable task. She answered slowly. “He… The patient’s right arm was amputated. It was supposed to be his left.” More silence. The med student I had been talking to tugged my sleeve. And we slipped out the door. “Trust me,” he said, “You do not want to be there when that patient wakes up.”
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Day 23
***Searching for good prompts can take as much time as writing some days. Particularly when I have 1000 word days. But one of the things that’s been really interesting is finding blogs and writing communities dedicated to finding unique ways to help other people write consistently. One of those blogs- which I look forward to exploring further- is Mamakatslosinit.com. That’s where today’s prompt comes from.
PROMPT: Incorporate the phrase “stop looking at me like that” into your post.
I was making dinner at home with Caleb. It was our weekly dinner and a movie night, but my roommate was home, which was fairly unusual. Marie was a box of crazy I had never wanted to get involved in. I consider myself a good person, but she was the type to latch onto people and then alternate between treating them like shit and whining that they were bad friends. She was desperately and constantly in need of friends to whom she could vent late into the night, but she wasn’t great at maintaining balance.
So I steered clear of her when she was having one of her crises, which she was tonight. Unfortunately, the pot on the burner meant that I was essentially chained to the kitchen as long as my meal was cooking. She walked in and took out a can of soda from the fridge, sighing overdramatically. “Well, I had a terrible day…” She always gave an easy lead in. She didn’t let the notion of subtlety stop her drawing me in. I gave a quick, closed-mouth, sympathetic smile. “Sorry. That sucks.” I answered without inquiring further.
Caleb sat at the table cutting vegetable for a salad. I stirred the pot. “You wouldn’t even believe it,” Marie pushed. I turned and made brief eye contact with Caleb, raising an eyebrow. He tried not to smile and buried himself in the vegetables to avoid laughing. I rolled my eyes and turned back to the stove. I nodded in response. “Yeah, sounds like a bad one.” She lingered by the kitchen door before giving up and retreating to her bedroom. I turned to Caleb and exhaled. “What? Stop looking at me like that!” “I said nothing…” and he returned to his chopping.
PROMPT: Incorporate the phrase “stop looking at me like that” into your post.
I was making dinner at home with Caleb. It was our weekly dinner and a movie night, but my roommate was home, which was fairly unusual. Marie was a box of crazy I had never wanted to get involved in. I consider myself a good person, but she was the type to latch onto people and then alternate between treating them like shit and whining that they were bad friends. She was desperately and constantly in need of friends to whom she could vent late into the night, but she wasn’t great at maintaining balance.
So I steered clear of her when she was having one of her crises, which she was tonight. Unfortunately, the pot on the burner meant that I was essentially chained to the kitchen as long as my meal was cooking. She walked in and took out a can of soda from the fridge, sighing overdramatically. “Well, I had a terrible day…” She always gave an easy lead in. She didn’t let the notion of subtlety stop her drawing me in. I gave a quick, closed-mouth, sympathetic smile. “Sorry. That sucks.” I answered without inquiring further.
Caleb sat at the table cutting vegetable for a salad. I stirred the pot. “You wouldn’t even believe it,” Marie pushed. I turned and made brief eye contact with Caleb, raising an eyebrow. He tried not to smile and buried himself in the vegetables to avoid laughing. I rolled my eyes and turned back to the stove. I nodded in response. “Yeah, sounds like a bad one.” She lingered by the kitchen door before giving up and retreating to her bedroom. I turned to Caleb and exhaled. “What? Stop looking at me like that!” “I said nothing…” and he returned to his chopping.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Day 22
PROMPT: Write in the second person.
(From Toasted Cheese)
You told him that you’d rather he just stopped talking to you when you have to be in the same room together. It’s an unusual circumstance, an incredibly difficult one actually, but you’ve been managing the best that you can. You try to keep perspective on the situation, remember that it’s not going to be perfect, that you can’t be too hard on yourself. He has never been quite as self-aware. It’s part of his problem.
Instead of respecting your wishes or responding to your concerns he lashes out. “So you just want me to go off somewhere and die, is that it?” You take a deep breath, knowing that addressing his ludicrous outbursts hasn’t gotten you very far in the past. You want to tell him that you wish him no harm. That you want him to live a long, happy, and more importantly healthy life. You want him to understand that you just can’t be a part of it. That you need to take care of yourself instead. But years of these fights have taught you that these are not concepts he is capable of understanding. And again, you’re the one that has to bite her tongue. He never will.
You try to go about your days as if it doesn’t get to you, but there are times when having to see him feels fully unbearable. You feel like your life can’t move forward as long as he’s in it, but your closest confidantes tell you how far you’ve come in spite of it. You struggle daily to figure out what “being okay” is so that you can figure out how to get there. Sometimes you get a little closer. Other times you feel miles away. But that’s just part of living.
(From Toasted Cheese)
You told him that you’d rather he just stopped talking to you when you have to be in the same room together. It’s an unusual circumstance, an incredibly difficult one actually, but you’ve been managing the best that you can. You try to keep perspective on the situation, remember that it’s not going to be perfect, that you can’t be too hard on yourself. He has never been quite as self-aware. It’s part of his problem.
Instead of respecting your wishes or responding to your concerns he lashes out. “So you just want me to go off somewhere and die, is that it?” You take a deep breath, knowing that addressing his ludicrous outbursts hasn’t gotten you very far in the past. You want to tell him that you wish him no harm. That you want him to live a long, happy, and more importantly healthy life. You want him to understand that you just can’t be a part of it. That you need to take care of yourself instead. But years of these fights have taught you that these are not concepts he is capable of understanding. And again, you’re the one that has to bite her tongue. He never will.
You try to go about your days as if it doesn’t get to you, but there are times when having to see him feels fully unbearable. You feel like your life can’t move forward as long as he’s in it, but your closest confidantes tell you how far you’ve come in spite of it. You struggle daily to figure out what “being okay” is so that you can figure out how to get there. Sometimes you get a little closer. Other times you feel miles away. But that’s just part of living.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Day 21
***It's Day 21 and I'm happy to say it's the first time I've completed a full week without penalty. It's getting harder and harder to forget about this every day, which makes an accidental penalty less and less likely. I'm amazed that I'm still going though. Next milestone is a month. Here we go...
PROMPT: The hat was never going to be a good idea
This was of very few occasions where they would ever have any reason to be at a dinner party. Even the term “dinner party” was foreign to Lisa and Jack. Lisa had spent two hours last week googling “what to wear to a dinner party.” It didn’t help. Apparently there were all different types. She had gone shopping three times, tried on dozens of outfits, and settled on a dress that could either be construed as fancy or just how fashionable people dress regularly. She figured it was a good middle ground. Jack, having not put the same amount of thought into his wardrobe choices, wore a fedora.
They had arrived on time, not knowing whether people would get to this sort of thing early or late. They smiled and shook hands with their hosts and handed over a bottle of wine that they had read about in the New York Times. Lisa kissed the hosts on the cheek. Just one cheek, not both. They were exhausted before they even got there just from having to think about all of the contributing factors. They had forgotten that they would have to actually communicate once they arrived.
Plum Lenore Manette had already arrived and was sitting at the elaborately set dining table when they arrived. Plum Lenore had been the one to get Lisa invited to this dinner. They had met in Plum Lenore’s shop when Lisa was shopping for décor for the new apartment. The shop had look like the type she would have seen on a DIY show about young twenty-somethings in Brooklyn. They had gotten along from the start and Plum Lenore seemed to enjoy Lisa’s ignorance of the “finer things”
They took seats at the table. Lisa next to Plum Lenore and Jack next to Lisa. The more people turned up, the less they felt like they needed to carry conversations. Jack, emboldened by the fedora, occasionally made sweeping generalizations about art or culture that probably could’ve been true, but neither of them would have known.
It was a lovely evening if a little confusing. Lisa kissed Plum Lenore on the cheek as she left, saying she would be sure and stop by the shop sometime this week. Jack shook hands with Royce Overfoote, whom he had talked to or listened to for most of the night. Jack suggested they friend each other on facebook. Royce laughed, “Facebook! You’re hilarious Jack. First the fedora and now this.” As they left Royce went over to Plum Lenore. “Where did you find them? It’s like they’re walking irony! Fabulous.” “Aren’t they though?”
They walked to their car, returning to the calm of normalcy. “Well, that was quite an experience.” “He said something about my hat.” Jack frowned as he started driving. Lisa turned to him. “Yeah, the hat was never going to be a good idea.”
PROMPT: The hat was never going to be a good idea
This was of very few occasions where they would ever have any reason to be at a dinner party. Even the term “dinner party” was foreign to Lisa and Jack. Lisa had spent two hours last week googling “what to wear to a dinner party.” It didn’t help. Apparently there were all different types. She had gone shopping three times, tried on dozens of outfits, and settled on a dress that could either be construed as fancy or just how fashionable people dress regularly. She figured it was a good middle ground. Jack, having not put the same amount of thought into his wardrobe choices, wore a fedora.
They had arrived on time, not knowing whether people would get to this sort of thing early or late. They smiled and shook hands with their hosts and handed over a bottle of wine that they had read about in the New York Times. Lisa kissed the hosts on the cheek. Just one cheek, not both. They were exhausted before they even got there just from having to think about all of the contributing factors. They had forgotten that they would have to actually communicate once they arrived.
Plum Lenore Manette had already arrived and was sitting at the elaborately set dining table when they arrived. Plum Lenore had been the one to get Lisa invited to this dinner. They had met in Plum Lenore’s shop when Lisa was shopping for décor for the new apartment. The shop had look like the type she would have seen on a DIY show about young twenty-somethings in Brooklyn. They had gotten along from the start and Plum Lenore seemed to enjoy Lisa’s ignorance of the “finer things”
They took seats at the table. Lisa next to Plum Lenore and Jack next to Lisa. The more people turned up, the less they felt like they needed to carry conversations. Jack, emboldened by the fedora, occasionally made sweeping generalizations about art or culture that probably could’ve been true, but neither of them would have known.
It was a lovely evening if a little confusing. Lisa kissed Plum Lenore on the cheek as she left, saying she would be sure and stop by the shop sometime this week. Jack shook hands with Royce Overfoote, whom he had talked to or listened to for most of the night. Jack suggested they friend each other on facebook. Royce laughed, “Facebook! You’re hilarious Jack. First the fedora and now this.” As they left Royce went over to Plum Lenore. “Where did you find them? It’s like they’re walking irony! Fabulous.” “Aren’t they though?”
They walked to their car, returning to the calm of normalcy. “Well, that was quite an experience.” “He said something about my hat.” Jack frowned as he started driving. Lisa turned to him. “Yeah, the hat was never going to be a good idea.”
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