Proud Mothers


“Two sugars and milk,” smiled Winnie as she set down a cup of tea in front of Nancy.

“Thank you, dear,” replied Nancy. She smiled back at her cousin. The two had tea together every Tuesday for the past thirty-seven years.

“How are things?” asked Winnie.

“Have I told you about my Stanley? He’s finally found a career he loves. I think he may have found his true calling,” gushed Nancy.

Winnie laughed. “I wish Eddie would do that. He’s threatening to move back home again.”

“Not again. How many times has it been?”

Winnie looked up as she thought. “Well, after his bachelor’s degree. The first one.”

“In music history?”

“Yes. Then again after his computer science degree, and after his masters in computer science. And now after his PhD,” said Winnie. She sighed. “At least he’s doctor Eddie.”

“I’m proud of him,” said Nancy.

“Me too. Now he talks about becoming a plumber,” said Winnie. Both ladies giggled.

Nancy took a sip of tea. “Stanley found a career that really suits him.”

“What’s he doing?”

“He’s a professional sleeper. It’s part of the research and development department of a mattress company.”

“Oh. That sounds, um, fulfilling,” said Winnie.

“It is. You know, he’s always been a good sleeper. Remember when he slept through the fire alarm at the church youth lock-in? It’s great to see him use his talents,” said Nancy.

“I’ve never thought of sleeping as a talent.”

“It’s a real discipline. He has to really take care of himself. No caffeine, no alcohol, regular exercise. He’s never been is such good shape,” said Nancy, proudly.

Winnie sipped her tea as her mind wandered.

“Penny for your thoughts,” said Nancy.

“Oh nothing. Just thinking about how life doesn’t make sense.”

Posted in short story, life, humor, humour, fiction, story, flash fiction, short fiction, mother, career, calling | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Embrace The Crazy


Blake laughed as he sat at the table in the staff lounge of the city clerks office.

“‘Sup, bro?” asked Rahim.

“I think I attract crazy. I’m like a crazy magnet.”

“Nah. Around here, crazy is normal,” said Rahim.

“Oh yeah? I was working on a guy’s paperwork this morning. We were going over a few things and I asked him his birthday.”


“So I ask him. He tells me, then adds, ‘that’s the day the aliens fixed me’. I mean, what do you say to that?”

Rahim laughed. “You should’ve asked him what needed to be fixed.”

“I wish I’d thought of that. But see? Crazy,” said Blake. “I swear it gets to you after a while.”

“That’s why you gotta embrace the crazy. Join the movement.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Do what I do. You know the public computers in the library? Check to see who forgot to log out of Facebook and mess with their profile.”

Blake’s face lit up. “That’s awesome. You did that to someone?”

“Yeah. On one girl’s page I announced she was pregnant.”

“That’s cruel,” laughed Blake.

“On another guy’s page I posted a message saying he was moving to Borneo and was giving away all his stuff to whoever wanted it. I wrote something about having an early midlife crisis. I even changed his marital status from ‘married’ to ‘single’.”

“You could really mess somebody up doing that.”

“But at least I’m not really, really mean. I’ve been nice, actually.”

“What do you mean?”

Rahim flashed a broad smile. “You left your Facebook page open on the staff computer.”

Blake’s jaw dropped. “No.”

“Yep,” said Rahim, leaning back in his chair.

Blake ran to the staff computer and logged on. “You son of a -,” he said.

Rahim laughed as Blake read.

“‘I just want to let everyone know my vasectomy was a complete success. Once the swelling goes down, I’ll be raring to go. #nowomanleftbehind.’ I hate you,” said Blake.

“Don’t be a hater, just embrace the crazy.”

Posted in crazy, Facebook, Facebook hack, fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, short fiction, short story, story | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Camp Meeting


Helen brought her mug of tea to the kitchen table and sat down. “We should do this more often.”

“I know. Life gets so crazy, you know?” replied Kirsten.

They both laughed. “I love these camp weeks. It’s like a mini vacation from the kids.”

“Seriously,” said Kirsten. They clinked their mugs together.

“Where are yours this week?” asked Helen.

“Let’s see. Last week was culinary camp. Lucy came up with this amazing mint cucumber water. She made it with ingredients from the garden she started at farming camp at the beginning of the summer. It’s so refreshing.”

“That sounds delicious. We could drink some while we watch the DVD Blake made at film camp. It’s a music video he made based on the song he composed at rock camp.”

“That would be so great. If we wait a week, Lucy will be able to help Blake with his next film project. She’ll be at a Hollywood stunt camp,” said Helen.

“So much fun! Almost as much fun as Blake’s upcoming week at explosives camp,” said Kirsten. She sat slightly forward.

“It’s perfect if you want to grow up to be a terrorist,” said Helen with a raised eyebrow. “At least Lucy will be getting practical experience at Shark Camp in Fiji.”

“Practice at what? Being bait? Blake’s going to work with pandas at a Chinese Cultural Immersion Camp. He’s going to help save the species,” said Kirsten.

“You can’t pass up on communist indoctrination under the guise of panda preservation,” snapped Helen.

The two women glared at each other for a few icy seconds.

“Well, I’ve gotta run. We really need to do this more often,” said Helen, as she faked a smile and stood up to leave.

Kirsten smiled right back at Helen. “Absolutely.”

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The Break-up


Bruce arrived at Annie’s apartment after a long week at work. He couldn’t explain why, but working long hours in the summer was worse than in the winter. “I’m exhausted,” he complained.

“Don’t tell me this. You know I’m not sympathetic,” replied Annie.

“But you’re my girlfriend. You’re supposed to be nurturing,” said Bruce.

“If you want that, call your mother.”

“She’s no better than you are,” Bruce scoffed.

Annie laughed. “Don’t tell me I remind you of your mother.”

“That’s disgusting,” said Bruce. He flipped off his shoes and flopped on the couch. “Can you at least fake some sympathy?”

“Fine,” sighed Annie.

“Thank you.”

There was an uncomfortable pause between them. “So, what kind of exhaustion do you have?”


“Is it fatigue? Are you emotionally exhausted? Just tired of working? What?”

“That’s not sympathy,” Bruce fumed.

“I’m just trying to figure out what I’m dealing with. I need to have something to go on.”

Bruce looked to the ceiling in frustration. “Fatigue.”

“Then go to bed earlier. You stay up way too late,” said Annie. “See? Easy peasy.”

“That’s not what I was looking for.”

“What do you mean? I did better than sympathy. I solved your problem. I’m wonderful.”

“Want a second opinion?”

“I don’t need one. It’s already been determined,” said Annie.

Bruce nodded, as though making a decision. He started putting his shoes back on.

“What are you doing?”

Bruce stood up. “At least one thing’s decided. I was going to tell you about the vacation to Panama I just booked. Instead, I’ve determined I’m going alone.”

Annie’s jaw dropped as she watching him leave.

Posted in boyfriend, fiction, flash fiction, girlfriend, humor, humour, Panama, relationship, short fiction, short story, story, sympathy, vacation | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

How The Government Really Works


Robin noticed a BMW turning right, took a three steps into traffic and got hit. It wasn’t hard enough to cause injury, but enough to infuriate.

She smacked the hood of the BMW, causing a small dent just to the right of the blue and white badge.

“Hey!” shouted the BMW driver.

“What? You hit me,” shouted Robin back at the yuppie in Ray-bans.

“You dented my car. That’ll cost like a thousand bucks to fix.” The driver caressed his wounded automobile.

The traffic building behind them started voicing their displeasure at the delay.

Robin grabbed her leg and fell to the ground. “What about my medical bills?”

The BMW driver stood over her, with his hands on his hips. “You can’t be serious.”

“You have no idea,” said Robin. She turned to a bystander. “Call 911. I think I’m about to lose consciousness.”

“Stop that. Stop,” said the BMW driver, trying to keep things from spiraling out of control. The sounds of car horns rang in his ears. “Fine. Just get up. Let’s forget the whole thing.”

“Why?” asked Robin. “Once the police get here I’m gonna have a lot of fun. I may even tell them the dent on your hood is where I hit my head.”

The BMW driver shook his head and knelt beside Robin. “What do you want?”

Robin went very still and calculating. “It’s not what I want. How badly do you want this to go away?”

The driver suddenly understood. “I’m being scammed.”

“You should be used to it after signing a lease on a BMW. What do you have?”

The driver pulled out $362 from his wallet. She grabbed it greedily. “I’ll take your watch, too.”

“But it’s a Tissot.”

“Then I’ll definitely take the watch,” said Robin.

Grudgingly, the BMW driver handed it over.

Robin smiled. “Don’t feel so bad. Think of it as a tax. A stupid tax.”


“Don’t be mad at me. You’re the one who’s stupid enough to flaunt your toys,” said Robin as rose to her feet. “Thank you for your contribution to the redistribution of wealth.”

Posted in BMW, car accident, fiction, flash fiction, government, humor, humour, scam, short fiction, short story, story, Tissot | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

World Cup Fever


Steve bumped into Rob at the coffee shop on his way to work. Portuguese flags waved proudly from the windows of Rob’s car.

“How’s it going’?” asked Rob as he joined the line.

“Alright. You?”


After a few seconds of awkward silence, Steve asked, “How’s Portugal doing in the World Cup?”

“Not great. We lost to Germany. Barely tied the US. I don’t think we’ll advance,” said Rob.

“Ah,” said Steve. A few more seconds of silence slipped by.

“Are you following it?” asked Rob.

“Oh yeah. I love the World Cup.”

“Yeah? Who’s your team?”

Steve frowned. Rob asked one question he dreaded most. “I don’t really have one,” said Steve, hesitantly.

“Really? Where are your people from?”

“Manitoba,” said Steve.

“No, I mean originally?”

“Everywhere. I’m like Heinz 57. My parents are Canadian, but I don’t know where their parents are from. So, I have no idea,” explained Steve. His face blushed, as though not having a World Cup team to root for was a matter of shame.

“You can always find out. Use one of those ancestry websites. Get in touch with your roots,” said Rob.

“Huh,” said Steve. It seemed like a lot of effort to find a World Cup team.

At that moment Tony pulled into the coffee shop parking lot, sporting a full array of Brazilian paraphernalia.

“Hey Rob!” shouted Tony. “Brazil called Portugal. We’re willing to give you a few lessons on the beautiful game. Portugal’s game is all kinds of ugly. Loser!”

Steve smiled to himself. Suddenly he didn’t feel so bad anymore.

Posted in Brazil, fiction, flash fiction, football, humor, humour, Manitoba, Portugal, short fiction, short story, soccer, story, World Cup | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

First World Problems


“Did you get everything you need?” asked Nellie.

“I think so. How about you?” replied Cassandra.

Nellie looked through her cart full of purchases. “Yep. If I didn’t remember it, I probably didn’t need it.”

They wove their way though the StuffMart toward the cashiers. The store was set up like a maze. Each aisle lead to exciting new bargains.

“I hope they have self check-out here,” said Nellie.

“I’m not sure.”

Nellie sorted through her cart again. She frowned as she looked at her selections.

“What’s wrong?” asked Cassandra.

“Nothing. I just don’t want some stranger looking at what I buy,” explained Nellie.

“What difference does it make?”

“I don’t want anyone knowing what deodorant I use, or my food choices or if I need hemorrhoid cream,” said Nellie.

Cassandra put her hand on Nellie’s arm and looked concerned. “Have they flared up again?”

“No. That’s not the point. I don’t want my personal business paraded in front of someone making minimum wage,” said Nellie.

“That’s what I call a First World problem,” laughed Cassandra.

“Privacy isn’t a First World problem.”

“Owning enough to make privacy a concern certainly is,” said Cassandra.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you’re too poor to own anything, even your identity has no value,” said Cassandra.

Nellie looked shocked. “That’s a terrible thing to say. Everyone has value.”

“You’d hope so, but in a lot of places, life is cheap.”

“I’m not sure I believe you, said Nellie.

“Really? Try being a woman in a country where women are considered property.”

Nellie pushed her cart quietly down the aisle past a sales display for body wash.

Cassandra laughed to herself. “Just be thankful you’re in a place where you are valuable enough for privacy to matter.”

Posted in fiction, first world problems, flash fiction, humor, humour, privacy, short fiction, short story, story | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment