Midlife Crisis


It was the end of a long day at the office. Elvina arrived home to discover Arnot sitting at the kitchen table, leaning over a notepad.

“Hi,” said Elvina.

“Hey,” mumbled Arnot. His focus never left the notepad.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m thinking,” said Arnot.

Elvina rolled her eyes and sighed. She was too tired for his theatrics.

“I’ll leave you to it,” said Elvina, kissing him on the forehead.

Arnot stopped and looked at Elvina for the first time. “You aren’t going to ask me what I’m thinking about?”

“You looked so focused, I didn’t want to disturb you,” said Elvina. She smiled knowingly.

“Take a look,” said Arnot. He held out the notepad.

Elvina glanced at his scrawl, but was too tired for guessing games. “And these are?”

“Possible names. I’m going to start my own business.”


Arnot slapped his hand on the table. “I’m tired of working for other people. I want to make something for myself.”

Elvina focused on the list again “Okay, ‘Two Bits Computer Center’, ‘Hamfisted Deli’, ‘Splashin’ Fashion Swimwear’. You don’t know a thing about any of these things. ‘Custard’s Last Stand Bakery’? You burn soup.”

Arnot looked at Elvina with desperation. “I’m fifty-one years old, and what have I accomplished? I’ll learn what I need to learn. It’ll be my great adventure.”

Elvina hesitated. “Alright, but ‘Voice of Raisin Fruit Shop’?”

“It’s a play on ‘voice of reason’. Get it?”

“Yeah, but I think you lost it,” said Elvina, looking over the page. “‘Superstructures Architecture’. That’s a whole new degree. You’d be nearly sixty before could do that.”

“So? Shoot for the stars, because if you fail you still land on the moon.”

“More like burn up on impact.”

Arnot pulled the notepad from her hand. “Go ahead. Laugh now, but you won’t be laughing when I’m a huge success.”

Elvina watching Arnot stomp out of the kitchen. “Only twenty-five more years until retirement,” she sighed.

Posted in fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, midlife crisis, short fiction, short story, story | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Pain Tolerance


Dan wore a disgusted expression as he sat in the waiting room of his dentist’s office.

“What’s wrong?” asked Megan while flipping through a Cosmopolitan.

“I hate coming here.”

“It’s just a cleaning.”

Dan wrinkled is nose as though he got a whiff of something awful. “But they get so aggressive it hurts. Why is it that things that are good for you hurt?” he whined.

Megan dropped the magazine. “Oh, please. Poor baby with his yearly cleaning. Try being a woman. We wax, pluck and scrub every day just so we look good.”

“And don’t think I don’t appreciate it,” smiled Dan.

“You better, It’s not as though you could handle what I go through for you,” said Megan.

“What do you mean, ‘what you go through for me’?”

“Men would die from the pain we put ourselves through.”

Dan raised an eyebrow and hesitated. Then he decided to go there. “Men suffer pain. It’s just different.”

“Really? How?”

“We have to suffer through the complaining women make about how much pain they put up with. Ooo, plucking. Ooo, labour. Give us a break. You’re giving us a headache.”

Megan’s eyes flashed in fury. Her voice got low and controlled. “What did you say?”

Dan was immediately seized with regret. “What I meant was-”

The Cosmopolitan Megan was holding smacked Dan in the mouth.

“You want pain? I’ll show you pain,” snarled Megan. She stormed out of the office, leaving Dan behind.

An old man looked over at Dan and nodded. Dan replied with a sheepish grin.

“I’ve been married fifty-two years to the same woman,” said the old man.

“Wow,” replied Dan.

“Would you like a piece of advice?”

“It couldn’t hurt,” said Dan, rubbing his mouth.

“In marriage, the best anesthetic is silence. At moments like these, whatever it is you’re thinking, keep it to yourself,” said the old man as he slowly stroked his beard.

“That would’ve been good to know five minutes ago. What’ll I do now?”

“Repeat these five words to her and nothing else. ‘I’m sorry, I was wrong’. That’s it.”

“Okay, but she started it. And how am I gonna get home? She abandoned me,” said Dan. The thought of it made him angry.

The old man leaned back in his chair. “You can stir it up again, of you want, but it won’t accomplish much. I suppose it depends on how much pain you can tolerate.”

Dan was about to respond, but thought better of it.

The old man grinned through his beard. “Now you’re learning.”

Posted in battle of the sexes, dentist, fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, marriage, men, pain, pain tolerance, relationships, short fiction, short story, story, women | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Cow Farts And Altruists


The rain fell like sheets on the front yard. Portia and her friend Whitney sat on the porch, musing.

“I hate rain,” grumbled Portia.

“At least it’s not snow,” replied Whitney.

“That’ll come soon enough.”

Whitney swung her feet from the chair. “Maybe not. Global warming you know.”

Portia scoffed. “It didn’t stop the blizzards last year. I hate it when eco-scientists blame people for everything.”

“I heard that the biggest problem is with cows. They’re producing more methane than cars.”

“What, like, through cow farts?”

“And burps. It’s making the hole in the ozone layer bigger,” explained Whitney.

Portia shook her head. “My dad says we’re being manipulated. He says that we’re not being told the truth.”

“The truth about what?”

“He said back in the eighties he was taught that the hole in the ozone layer was getting bigger and that by the year 2000 the Brazilian rain forest would be cut down,” said Portia.

“Seriously? That was fifteen years ago, like, before we were born.”

“Yeah. He says that after a while scientists stopped talking about those things because they didn’t happen. They started talking about other stuff instead.”

Whitney frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would they do that?”

“Dad says people have short attention spans, so they just wait for the next generation and spew the same old crap hoping nobody remembers the eighties.”

“Brings new meaning to recycling,” said Whitney.

“Dad says it’s all about power and control. He thinks people need to be a lot more critical about what they’re told. People aren’t altruists,” said Portia.

“What’s an altruist?”
“I’m not sure. Something about being good and not being selfish at the same time,” said Portia.

“I don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it either. You know the craziest part? Dad tells me not to believe him. That I should figure it out for myself.”

Whitney tilted her head and sighed. “Portia, no offense, but I’m not sure if your dad is really smart or just senile.”

Posted in altruist, alturism, environmentalism, fiction, flash fiction, global warming, humor, humour, ozone layer, short fiction, short story, story, truth | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Justice Is Served


Quentin first noticed the car in his rearview mirror. A tricked-out Civic lurched into the left lane and squealed it’s tires.

“Check this out. Coming up from behind us,” he said to Kori.

Kori swiveled her head. “What-”

Before Kori could finish her sentence, the Civic roared past. The high pitched scream of it’s turbo drowned out the song on their radio.

“Whoa,” said Kori.

“It’s going at least eighty,” said Quentin.

The two watched as the Civic left them in the dust.

“They’ll kill someone,” said Kori.

“Where’s a cop when you need one?”

As soon as Quentin spoke, a police cruiser pulled out ahead of them. It’s lights lit up the night.

“He’s going after him,” cheered Kori.

Quentin pumped his fist. “Justice!”

The two applauded all the way passed the Civic that was pulled over by the police. Then they went eerily silent.

“Is it wrong that we cheered some guy’s misfortune?” asked Kori.

“No. We’re celebrating justice,” said Quentin.

“I guess it’s all in how you look at it. As long as never happens to us,” mused Kori.

Quentin smiled. “Exactly.”

Posted in fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, justice, short fiction, short story, speeding, story | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

The Voyeuristic Public Service Post


As Brad and Lexie sat in traffic, Lexie looked out the window of their car and gagged. Brad looked over from the driver’s seat.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I just saw a woman pop a zit in her rearview mirror. It was so gross, I gotta tweet it out,” she said as she pulled out her phone.

“I’ve seen worse,” said Brad.

“I saw zit juice hit the inside of her windshield.”

Brad laughed. “Okay, that’s nasty. I remember watching a guy pick his nose. He dug so much out he surprised himself. The look on his face was priceless.”

“Why do people think they can do anything they want in their cars?”

“It’s like they forget they’re surrounded by windows.”

“There’s no privacy,” said Lexie.

“Maybe people don’t care about privacy anymore,” mused Brad.

“I don’t think so. I think people care about privacy more than ever.”

“Says the girl who posts her entire life on social media,” said Brad.

“That’s different. I only post important stuff,” replied Lexie.

“What about the time you posted the picture of your toenail fungus?”

Lexie turned away from Brad and looked out the window. “I’ll have you know that was a public service.”

“I’m sure.”

“Totally. I was sharing the dangers of going without flip flops at a public pool,” said Lexie.

“I wish I were so heroic,” sniped Brad.

Lexie looked into the cars around her. “Dare to dream.”

Posted in fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, nose picking, picking your nose in traffic, posting, privacy, short fiction, short story, social media, story, traffic, tweeting, voyeur, zit | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Apple Picking


George and Eliza called everyone together in the living room for a family meeting.

“Why are you calling us so early?” moaned Darcy, their fifteen year old daughter.

“It’s ten o’clock,” said Eliza.

“It’s Saturday. That’s like 6 AM on a weekday,” said Darcy as she plopped herself on the couch.

“Where’s your brother?” asked George.

“He was in his room watching Youtube on his iPad the last I saw,” said Darcy. “Don’t wait for him. Can we get on with this?”

“Fine. Your father and I have decided that we’re going to do something fun as a family.”

Darcy remained silent, but her eyes filled with terror.

“We’re going apple picking,” said George, just as Colton entered the room.

“We’re going to the Apple Store? Awesome,” said Colton.

“Not to the Apple Store. Apple picking,” clarified Eliza.

Their twelve year old son looked confused. “You called us all together to tell us we’re going to the grocery store?”

“No, Colton. We’re going to where apples come from,” said George.

“Isn’t that what I said?” asked Colton.

“They mean an apple orchard, moron,” said Darcy.

“Darcy, watch your mouth,” snapped Eliza.

Colton sneered back at his older sister.

“Why are we going there?” moaned Darcy.

“We’re gonna pick our own apples, as a family,” said George.

“Don’t they pay people to do that?” asked Colton.

“Yes, but today we’re going do it,” said Eliza.

“So we’re like, stealing somebody’s job. That’s not right,” said Darcy.

“Are they gonna pay us?” asked Colton.

“We’re not getting paid. We’re doing it to learn about where our food comes from and bond as a family,” said Eliza.

“I think we’d bond more going to the Apple Store,” reasoned Colton.

Darcy rolled her eyes. “What’ll we do next, slaughter a cow?”

“We can do that? Awesome! Let’s do that instead,” said Colton.

“We’re not slaughtering anything. We’re just picking apples,” argued Eliza.

Darcy sighed loudly.

“We’re going apple picking. This isn’t a discussion, it’s an announcement,” declared George.

Darcy crossed her arms and glared at her dad. “It must be nice to be King.”

George chuckled. “You have no idea. Someday you’ll have your own prince and princess. I just pray I’m alive long enough to see it.”

Posted in apple, apple picking, Apple Store, apples, family, family bonding, fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, short fiction, short story, story | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Modern Day PT Barnum


Cutler shuffled the deck of cards, then handed it to Boone.

“Take a card, memorize it, then put it back in the deck,” said Cutler.

Boone followed Cutler’s instructions, then handed back the deck.

“I figured out who Donald Trump really is,” explained Cutler, as he reshuffled the cards.

“Yeah? Who?”

“He’s the modern PT Barnum.”

“Who’s that?” asked Boone.

“He was a circus owner and entertainer a hundred and fifty years ago. He said ‘there’s a sucker born every minute’,” said Cutler.

“You think people who like Trump are suckers?”

Cutler chuckled. “Absolutely. In his campaign for president, what’s he done or said to justify anybody’s belief in him?”

“He said America would be great again,” said Boone.

“But has he explained how we’ll do it?”

“Not that I’ve heard.”

“He says just enough to string people along. It’s like ‘ole PT Barnum said, ‘always keep the people wanting more’. See what I mean? Trump is the quintessential showman.”

“Okay, but why? What’s in it for him?”

“Fame, power, glory, money. All of the above,” explained Cutler.

“People will eventually see through that,” said Boone.

Cutler shook his had. “No they won’t. They’re too busy being entertained to care. It’s the ultimate misdirection.”

“I don’t know. People are smarter than that.”

“If you say so,” said Cutler. He held up the ten of clubs. “Is this your card?”

Boone smiled. “Nope. Better do a little more practicing.”

“Huh,” said Cutler. “Anyway, here’s your watch back.”

Boone’s jaw dropped as Cutler handed back his wristwatch. “How’d you do that?”

Cutler smiled.

Posted in campaign, Donald Trump, fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, magic, politics, president, PT Barnum, short fiction, short story, story, Trump, United States | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment