As promised, I am continuing my
continued ongoing attempt to humble myself before my reading public – Alice and a few others – by publishing the entries that were relegated to the “thanks-but-no-thanks” bin. Because of the amount of work that goes into most any kind of writing, I wanted this little piece to enjoy being read by a few more folks.
The rules were these:
- 200 words
- must use the following words: bulldozer, plant, jam, simplicity, and cookie
- somebody must get slapped
Got it? Just in case, the required words and action are in boldface. =)
Cookie decided she better answer him even though the history teacher looked past her to me. My friend’s voice skipped an octave. “Uh, because women didn’t have the same opportunities to explore the world?”
“Possibly, Miss Abbott,” Mr. Theobold said, and then he turned and planted his size fifteen wingtips close to my desk. “Can you add any insights, Azalea Jones?”
I flinched when a bit of spittle squirted from his mouth to my forehead. Glaring at this pathetic excuse for an educator, I pulled a Kleenex from my backpack, blotted away the saliva, and then jammed the tissue into my pocket.
“No, not really, Mr. Theobold. But I’m pretty sure I know what mighty revelation you’re ready to share, thus confounding the simplicity of our feminine minds.” Dad always likened me to a bulldozer when backed into a corner, and now I wanted to level this jerk.
The smirk warped into a grimace and his voice smoldered. “What do you think of that, class? Miss Jones reads minds. Do you know what folks called women who demonstrated such skills hundreds of years ago?”
“Intuitive. But I bet you were going to say ‘witches,’ right?”
That’s when he slapped me.