"Why me?"
"Why not you? After all, you is the creator and I is just the interpreter of your output. So what do you think, am I good or am I good?"
The tired writer continued to stare hard into her hazel eyes until his bottom lip began to quiver until it was sneering like that boxer from Philadelphia. Or the singer from the U.K., it was so hard to figure out who was who these days.
Nevertheless, he broke eye contact and face-planted his tired face into the tired table and wept.
Concerned for about a nano-second that she had done something wrong, Flexi quickly dismissed that responsible thought out of her head. Instead, she decided on a new approach. She slowly sat up and kissed her little man with the super big platinum crown jewels on the forehead, before sliding her voluptuous body to the ground. She stood up, performed a breathtaking hair flip that bordered on the obscene and quietly (for her) snapping her fingers. And just like before, she was surrounded by a daffodil scented smoke screen.
The tired man sat there with his mouth agape and drool running down his neck. "What in the wide, wide world of retro sports am I going to do with Flexi? Seriously, that...that...that birthing person (a hand quickly appeared from the smoke screen and unleashed a slap that spun him around in his seat so fast that his brain became unscrambled), I mean, that woman (he quickly flinched after speaking the word that no Democrat would dare utter) is going to get me into soooooo much trouble with my blog and--"
His thought was interrupted again when the smoke-screen cleared out, leaving yet another version of Flexi behind. As like last time, the tired man's jaw dropped, but not to the ground, but more down to his waist, after seeing that once again, she was dressed like one his characters from his story: tight fitting blue jeans, western style shirt, vest, long flowing hair, wraparound sunglasses...and an enhancement that somehow started with the numeral 4.
Flexi strolled over to the tired man with a movement that in his tween years would make his mother cover his eyes in fear. She slowly leaned over the table, taking care to make sure that her little man was getting a very unwanted eyeful of her anatomy, and purred, "Is this a better visual aid to help you with your creativity?"
The tired man went wide-eyed in shock and amazement, which was quickly followed by lust and a deep yearning for something beyond his means. And then....
Tune in next week for part the fourth of "Dad's Muse Has Come Back!"
You're right - they'd never utter that word.
ReplyDeleteSad commentary on the affairs in the States, and maybe the UK.
DeleteIt's been this way forever for me. Catholic school, 12 years. My oldest bro was suspended for calling the nun Principal that!
ReplyDeleteNot to mention, I can work like a male all I want, I just won't ever get the same money...
And I believe I know the word to which you refer to as Birthing Person...
Thanks for stopping by to comment. I think people with common sense, such as everyone commenting here, know what the actual word is that I'm referring to. Like I said, it's a sad commentary on life in the States and the U.K.
DeleteYou sure know how to write a cliffhanger, LOL!
ReplyDeleteI do try. It will end soon. I may bring out one or two more main characters before ending it. It's been a lot of fun poking around at my alter ego.
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