Singleton + Writer + Book Lover + Moviegoer = Screen Spinster

Welcome to the loneliest blog on the web. I have no words of wisdom to espouse. (why does espouse sound so much like spouse? Is that word trying to rub it into my spinster brain?) Anyway, I don't own a cat. Never will. I don't cook, nor do I sew or knit, but I do spin a yarn (tale) from time to time. I have no domestic talents, I am not a domestic engineer/goddess, nor do I want to be. I'll sometimes post my views on scripts, (mine & yours or theirs) movies, television shows and maybe theatre, along with my own musings usually in the style of a poem. So pull up a rocking chair, sit back as your cherry pie bakes and stay a while if you like.

Monday, July 25, 2011

An excerpt from something I am working on. CHICK LIT.


Date # 76 and #77, with the same man, Seth, lead to an important discovery. On our second date, which we had because the first one was such a success, he took me to a reunion concert of The Guess Who. Not really my generation of music, but fantastic nonetheless. Since we got along like gangbusters, I agreed to a second date and he agreed to cook me dinner. After almost eighty dates, no man had ever offered to cook me dinner, so I jumped at the chance. Dinner was wonderful. He baked the feathers off a chicken. Since my mom is a Martha Stewart fan, I knew right away that he was using her recipe for buttermilk baked chicken. I also noticed a Martha cookbook on the bookshelf.

I drank lots of white wine and gingerale, a great combo with baked chicken. I excused myself to use the bathroom before dessert was brought out, which he informed me was strawberry shortcake. Dinner and dessert? I almost had an orgasm right there.

The bathroom, blue and orange, with a plastic shower curtain was your standard bachelor pad lavatory. And there it was before me. The all-knowing medicine cabinet. The crystal ball of relationships. It beckoned me. It promised me riches of gold and a fountain of information. He had Flintstones vitamin, along with unscented shaving cream for sensitive skin, toothpaste for sensitive teeth, and Old Spice aftershave. Nothing out of the ordinary, or so I thought. I opened the Flintstones vitamins. I felt like a Wilma fix, and low and behold, inside the Flintstones bottle was a string of glow-in-the-dark anal beads! I made an excuse about cramps and left. And since then I’ve always looked in medicine cabinets.

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