A peacock, a couple, and a chick in a bathtub walk into a bar…

and take the cake for the lamest blog post title ever.

So, the crap morning to top all crap mornings hit me…this morning, strangely enough. Of course I tweet about it, and through lovely fandom hugs and HEA’s and drabble prompts, I’m feeling a lot better.

Thanks Naelany and @tjbaby101 for the above.

The images came from Nae, which came from other peeps who gave them to her. So they are recycled :D Nae also gave me a word to go with each pic, and tjbaby gave me another, but one was a non-word that I couldn’t work in, but I did work in the blanket hiding that we talked about, even though it was an accident.

I should just get on with it, right? Right.

He got blind drunk and disappeared, and I spent half my time looking for him, worried that I’d find him wrapped around a toilet bowl or passed out in a garden. I checked both the bathrooms and he wasn’t there. That left the outside of the house, so I pushed my way through the kitchen where a crowd had gathered and slipped out the back door.

I found him sitting on a stump.

“Look, honey,” he said. “I found a peacock.”

I crouched down and looked through the small, hexagonal wire mesh. “That’s not a peacock, babe. That’s a chicken.”

My mother hated thunderstorms. When I was a baby, barely six weeks old, her brother was lost in the bush, and she walked around the house with me in her arms as lightening flashed and thunder rolled and she waited for news.

They are both gone now, but when there is thunder and lightening I have an image in my mind of my mother standing in front of the glass doors in the living room of the house I grew up in, and the cameo my uncle gave me when I was still a child, and I remember them both.

“Is this weird?”

“Only in the ‘I’ve never had a girl in my bed before’ way. Does it seem weird?”

“No. It seems…warm. Safe.”

“It’s certainly that. Sorry I can’t help you with your problem.”

“Don’t be. I’m not sure there’s really a problem.”

“You’re not desperate to get laid?”

“I shouldn’t be. Straight guys are assholes.”

“They’re not all bad. There’s a nice guy out there, waiting for you.”

“Until he turns up, can I hide under your blankets?”

“Sure. Until I’m desperate to get laid. Then you’re out.”

The one about the thunderstorms is a true story.


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