They are partners in a dance. He leads, she unwillingly joins in.
She can say no. Statute says she must say no, but too much is at risk. Following the rules would lead to publicity and a law suit.
She wants to say no; her partner wants her to say no.
Her only option is seduction. Slowly, carefully she leads him to infer that she's really on his side, a dyed in the wool, life-long conservative. He sees an ally in his fight against the liberals. The dance stops.
He agrees to a compromise, a cease and temporary desist while he investigates her premise. His signature gatherers complain, but haunt the business next door.
She feels dirty.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
When I was 20
I owned a new, red '72 Super Beetle.
I lived in a small apartment in Arlington, TX and worked full time to put my childhood sweetheart through college.
I could see our future very clearly. After his graduation, I would quit my job and become a housewife whose only purpose in life would be to take take of him, his house, and our children.
He graduated, went to work, and sent me to college so he wouldn't be ashamed to introduce me to his co-workers. He could see our future very clearly. After my graduation, we would be a childless two-career family with a wonderful townhouse and fancy cars.
His perfect planning had one flaw; college grads do not good doormats make.
Today, I own a red Element, live in a modest house, with a different hubby, two almost grown children, and a wonderful career.
I could see our future very clearly. After his graduation, I would quit my job and become a housewife whose only purpose in life would be to take take of him, his house, and our children.
He graduated, went to work, and sent me to college so he wouldn't be ashamed to introduce me to his co-workers. He could see our future very clearly. After my graduation, we would be a childless two-career family with a wonderful townhouse and fancy cars.
His perfect planning had one flaw; college grads do not good doormats make.
Today, I own a red Element, live in a modest house, with a different hubby, two almost grown children, and a wonderful career.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Socks, the standing cat
Oh kitty-kitty, why is it you stand so?
Most lap kitties snuggle down and are content.
But you, my dear friend, insist on standing.
For the last 17 years each of us has tried to convince the other they are wrong, but to no avail.
If I were wiser, I would accept you for who you are -- a standing lap cat.
Most lap kitties snuggle down and are content.
But you, my dear friend, insist on standing.
For the last 17 years each of us has tried to convince the other they are wrong, but to no avail.
If I were wiser, I would accept you for who you are -- a standing lap cat.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
abandoned
A knock at the door.
The boyfriend has arrived.
The daughter quickly pulls on her jacket, grabs her backpack, and heads out to begin her day.
Muffled voices filter through the door as she lovingly greets the boyfriend and his dog.
Her now abandoned cat sits stiffly and glares at the door.
Oh kitty-kitty, she still loves you.
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