A milkshake is plopped down in front of me just as I decide to skedaddle. How can I possibly enjoy this guilty pleasure when my boss, the head of the English Department, the man I’ve crushed on for ten years, is sitting at the diner counter like a solitary cowboy with his gun (well in this case his silver pen) cocked and ready for battle? (click here to see Part I, Diner Dilemma) Continue reading
flash fiction
The Diner Dilemma
I never go to diners because I’m always on a diet. At 49 years of age, you’d think I – Dr. Pauline Limone – would be tired of trying to reshape myself, and my body, into something it’s not.
But no. this month I’m on the OEG diet, the biggest fad going on at the college where I teach. I don’t think the students know of this diet. They’re too busy snacking on Ring Dings and getting drunk on mojitos every Friday night. Continue reading
Paul in First Class
I’d been in love with this man since I was 12. But he was inaccessible. The years passed and I fell in love with someone my age – several times. Bruce. Jackson. Married him. He turned out to not be what he seemed. We divorced. Then I married Derek, a man who was more than he seemed. And he seemed pretty darn wonderful.
So, imagine my surprise when after Derek and I were married for a few years, my brother announced nonchalantly, “It’s amazing how much Derek looks like Paul.”
Continue reading
The Passageway
When Dorie talked to her minister about the passageway, he pooh-poohed it. “We don’t believe in things like that,” he said in a patronizing tone. “New agey – has nothing to do with religion.” Continue reading
Fifty Shades of Pink
Paula stepped away, holding back a scream when the neighbor who had just moved into the apartment above her entered the shared laundry room, saying softly: “Is there a problem?” (In the Laundry Room, continuing from last week…)
“Oh. Um. Hello! It’s Stefan, isn’t it? Hi. I’m Paula.” Paula nodded her head as if in a business meeting, berating herself silently. He’s creepy!
Stefan ignored her as he glared at the laundry in her hands. “I believe those are my jeans. And Darlene’s nightgown.” Continue reading
