Hi. My name is Reece. With the Prom coming up there was this girl in my year called Cosima. And I was too scared to ask her to the Prom.
Way back on Valentine’s Day, Toby Washdyke sent her some roses. And I reckon he’d ask her to be his partner at the Prom before I plucked up the courage to ask. She noticed Toby Washdyke all the time, and hardly ever knew I was even there. I just had to ask her. That’s all. She could only say “No”.
So I did! I asked her! I was sweating like mad. I went straight up to her door where she lived and said “Cosima, would you like to go to the Prom with me?” and she said “Yes!” She said yes! yes! yes!
Well we went to the Prom, and next month our first great grandchild is expected! Imagine that! After fifty-two years.
“Excuse me,” said Cosima. “Was it Toby Washdyke who sent those roses? I always thought it was you.”
George lived on his own with only the one broken marriage behind him. He thought he shouldn’t live the rest of his life on his own; he needed to find a companion.
He’d always been mildly interested in bird watching (the feathered sort), so he joined the local Bird Watching Society in the hope of furthering his interest and also of finding a lady of interest.
And find her, he did! Eadlin Aislabie was so knowledgeable about birds; where to see the rarest; how to photograph them; where and how they nested… She was an ornithological encyclopaedia. George was spellbound. He was captured! Enraptured! Entranced! Within weeks they were married and living in the same house.
That was a mistake. It drove him nuts. She wouldn’t stop talking about the bloody things.
Let’s face it; Alice was ever so slightly overweight. Her husband didn’t seem to mind, but it worried Alice. No matter what I do – she said – I can’t seem to lose weight.
The reality was that whenever Alice bought groceries she would also buy a big spicy chicken leg or a cheese burger or a sausage in a bun dripping with wonderful butter, and all from the delicatessen at the supermarket. It was something to eat in the car on the way home. Of course, Alice always tossed the wrapping out the car window. She wasn’t going to let her husband know she had squandered $2.70 on a fatty luxury.
On this day, Alice bought a wonderful soft cheese wrapped in a chicken schnitzel and fried coated with buttery bread crumbs. It was in a black polystyrene container with a plastic film wrapping. Alice devoured the schnitzel in the car. Delicious! She left the wrapping sitting on the passenger seat next to her. There was too much traffic for her to toss the wrapping out the window. She might get caught littering.
Once she was out of the traffic, Alice reached over, grabbed the schnitzel wrapping, and dropped it nonchalantly out the window.
When she arrived back home the wrapping was still on the seat. It must have blown back inside.
For weeks after that, Alice wondered… Where had she mislaid her purse?
The thing was, Johnny had spent days, weeks even, adjusting his toaster settings to perfection so that his toaster would pop out the toast at the exact moment of impeccable toasting time and then Taylor moved in and she changed the knob setting on the toaster because she didn’t like her toast as brown as Johnny did and that was a mistake so he changed it back and Taylor changed it back again.
That was before the divorce. It’s hard enough being a film star without all this extra stress.
Lucinda sat at her dining table typing away. How lovely these days, with a laptop, that one could work anywhere! A mug of coffee at hand! A laptop! Her dear cat blithely rubbing against the calf of her leg! No purring today, but so comforting! What contentment!
But wait! Her cat had died a month ago. So what was that under the table?
Don’t think that when the clever boys and girls of today get old, that they will have lost their ability to be clever.
Way down the track, miles from hence, Granny Boyle was angry; real angry. Some upstart-little-technological-savvy twerp had thought it fun to digitally go into the innards of Granny’s microwave’s electronics, and with the push of a button on a cell phone, make Granny’s microwave explode. Just as Granddad was using it. It killed him. Granny Boyle wasn’t simply sad; she was furious.
Getting her own cell phone, she started pressing numbers. Tap tap tap. Click click click. She pressed the final button.
“Hopefully,” said Granny, “that will have exploded the technological-savvy twerp’s phone and blown their head off.”
Juliette liked to make the most of whatever she was doing. She was a widow, well into her seventies, and she had a birthday coming up. Her three children couldn’t make it for the celebration as they lived far far away. Never mind. Juliette would celebrate it in her own way.
She knew exactly what she wanted. It had been months, possibly years, since she had eaten spaghetti and meatballs! That’s what she wanted, and that’s what she would do!
She purchased a packet of the long, long, extra-long, spaghetti. The real stuff. And she bought a container of special tomato paste to make the sauce. When it came to cooking it, she couldn’t open the packets. She pushed and pulled and poked. Nothing would budge.
Merton had this brilliant idea to make lots of money; and it worked. He would go to the beach and collect a pile of seaweed, throw it in a tub of water for ten minutes, bottle the water, and sell it as expensive garden fertilizer.
Every second gardening enthusiast wanted to buy his fertilizer. Kelp Help was the brand name. The stuff didn’t make an ounce of difference of course, but Merton made heaps of money. He was able to buy a luxury house; and a car; and a racehorse.
Next he was thinking of making a booklet to sell on the internet telling people how to make easy money with snails. You can breed and market snails for eating no trouble. Just buy the booklet and find out how.
A poor person knocked on Merton’s door and asked for some food.
“Clear off,” said Merton. “I worked for my money. If you want to eat you’ve got to use your brains.”
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