Thursday April 2nd, 2015

The exercise:

Write something that has to do with: the squeeze.

After spending the morning with Max in town, I got our peppers (and eggplants) started in the greenhouse this afternoon. Then I finally got out to the garden and managed to weed and mulch the first two rows of garlic. There's only seven rows this year, so that's a reasonable chunk of work done.

Just a heads up for those interested in the yearlong prompt: I'm planning this month's visit to The Colony for Sunday. So if you haven't had a chance to write something for last month's entry, please do so in the next couple of days so I can incorporate your writing into my next addition.

Looking forward to tomorrow for reasons I shall explain tomorrow night.

Mine:

"Maurice has to go."

"I'm sorry, what now?"

"Maurice. Go. Now. Got it?"

"He just moved in with us two days ago!"

"Right. So he's been living here for approximately two days too long then."

"But we finally managed to replace Edith - without even getting rid of the smell of wet cats in her bedroom!"

"Well, that should have been a warning sign for Maurice, shouldn't it? That he'd agree to sleeping in that... place?"

"Well... how about you tell me why you want him out. Maybe then we can have a reasonable conv-"

"I don't like the way he handles the squeezable honey."

5 Comments:

Greg said...

Clearly you sold Max in town so that you could have the afternoon to get some work done, and then in the evening he was returned by his new owner as being more than just a cheeky imp :)
I can't help but feel a little sorry for Maurice to be honest; he's willing to put up with the smell of damp cats and still pay rent? He sounds like a blessing for many landlord, no matter how much he massages that squeezy bottle... ;-) Beautifully conveyed scene with just that conversation!

The squeeze
The man who claimed to be Moriaty's grandson pressed on the side of his eye socket and his left glass eye popped out with a little sucking sound. He produced a white red handkerchief from his trouser pocket and polished the eye while his other glass eye was aimed in my general direction.
"That finesse was outrageous," he said. "So I guess for the last three tricks Lady Palmerstone simply guessed where the Ace of Spades was?" The eye squeaked as he polished it.
"Well actually," I said, rather pleased that he'd asked, "as you can see, Lady Palmerstone has an entry to dummy, and dummy holds the only remaining diamond. So when she leads her entry...."
Moriaty's grandson popped his eye back in but kept the handkerchief in his hand. "A highly effective squeeze," he said. "And not one I'd noticed; I assumed that she'd simply guess where the Ace was and play the probabilities."
"As it happens," I said, "it turned out that Lord Lavelle had dropped the Ace on the floor four tricks earlier and he made a terrible fuss about how he might have played differently if it had been in his hand. Naturally Lady Palmerstone pointed out that he'd followed suit in Hearts to all of those tricks, but it did take the edge off her victory just a little."
"I see," he said. He set the handkerchief down on a table behind him without ever turning his head to look at it, and I realised that he possibly knew that there were spy cameras in his eyes. I walked past him as though to admire the photograph from closer, and pocketed the handkerchief.
"The political situation in Naples is very interesting at the moment," I said. "I really ought to consider going somewhere else for my summer holiday."
"But I hear that the Court is a sight to be seen for as long as you have eyes," said Moriaty's grandson. "I'm sure you could find just the right Square to stay in."
That explained the handkerchief then. I turned away from the picture.
"After that hand of Bridge the tables were cleared away and they started on Tiddlywinks," I said. "Would you like to hear how the decHubby–Palantire game played out?"

morganna said...

Wiggle, wiggle, squirm left
Can't get out that way
Wiggle, wiggle, squirm right
Can't get out that way
SHRIEK!
Tears from Aunt Elmira
Why doesn't little Johnny like me?

Dawn M. Hamsher said...

Squeeze a rock
It releases not a drop.
Squeeze the sky
Tears fall by and by.
Squeeze my heart
Love pours out.

Weird, but that's all I have for today. LOL>

The Write Soil

ivybennet said...

I apologize in advance for my gutter-dwelling mind. I swear, sometimes it would be homeless.

The Squeeze:

They were round, like small melons meshed perfectly to an hourglass. I could even see a hit of mocha rim peeping out of the lacy white shell she wore. Even the slightest step or turn from their host lead to a slight bounce or wiggle. So perfect, in every way.
In the end, I found myself lead away by the mall cops on freaking mopeds. But, seriously, who in their right mind could resist?

Marc said...

Greg - nah, he spends Thursday afternoons and Tuesday mornings with Kat's parents. Gives me a break and time to do some farm/writing/photography/whatever work.

Ugh, that eye polishing detail is... yeah. I enjoyed the undercurrent of intrigue in this scene.

Morganna - hah, wonderfully captured. Love the perspective.

Dawn - hello, long time no see! Hope you've been well.

I don't think it's weird, in fact I quite like it!

Ivybennet - I used to say that my mind would come up to the gutter to feed, so no apologies required :D

Love that toss in detail of the mall cops being on mopeds. Just puts a great image to end the scene.