junk

Friday Fictioneers — Good Money

Fandango16 Comments

The keys rested on the stand like cheap relics from past.

“It’s useless junk, Mark,” she said. “I’m going to call the junk movers and have them haul it away.”

“It’s history,” he shot back. “Your grandmother kept it for a reason.”

“She also kept every receipt since the 1950s.”

He lifted one of the chipped white keys. “They’re beautiful. We should display them.”

She shook her head. “Or we could finally let go of things that we don’t want or need.

“Wait, I’m going to list it on eBay,” Mark insisted. “Some sucker will pay good money for it.”

(100 words)

Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers prompt. Photo credit: Lily.

Fandango’s Flashback Friday — July 15th

Fandango12 Comments

Wouldn’t you like to expose your newer readers to some of your earlier posts that they might never have seen? Or remind your long term followers of posts that they might not remember? Each Friday I will publish a post I wrote on this exact date in a previous year.

How about you? Why don’t you reach back into your own archives and highlight a post that you wrote on this very date in a previous year? You can repost your Friday Flashback post on your blog and pingback to this post. Or you can just write a comment below with a link to the post you selected.

If you’ve been blogging for less than a year, go ahead and choose a post that you previously published on this day (the 15th) of any month within the past year and link to that post in a comment.

This was originally posted on July 15, 2017.

Going Commando

Image result for inseam measurement

I admit that I’m cheating. Linda’s prompt for this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday challenge is to write a post about the title of a book you’re currently reading or one that is closest to you as you write this post.

Sorry Linda, but I’m not doing that today. Not exactly, anyway.

Yesterday’s WordPress one-word prompt was the word “tailor.” I wrote a post that referenced spy novels, including one by John le Carré, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. I am neither currently reading that book nor is it close to me at the moment.

But after I’d published my post for the “tailor” prompt yesterday, I recalled a long-suppressed memory of the last time I’d gone to a tailor, something I don’t do very often. I’m an off-the-rack kind of a guy.

Anyway, I remembered one very mortifying experience visiting a tailor. It was many years ago. I mean MANY years ago. Here’s the story of that experience.

My sister was getting married in a far away city and I was an usher. Her fiancé made an appointment with a local tailor for his ushers (and his father) to get fitted for our wedding party tuxes. Five of us piled into a car and headed to the tailor.

Upon our arrival, the tailor herded all of us into a large, communal fitting room so that he could get our measurements for the tuxes. He then instructed us all to remove our shirts and trousers.

So what’s the big deal you ask? Well, back then I was a bit of a hippie. Long hair, beard, tie-dyed t-shirts, and bell-bottomed jeans.

I also went commando. Just in case you don’t know what that means, going commando involves not wearing underpants beneath your pants. For men, it’s sometimes referred to as “free-balling.”

The day we had the appointment with the tailor, I had on my bell-bottomed jeans and I was, as usual, not wearing underpants. I guess I wasn’t thinking about where we were going or what we would be doing.

So there I was with four other guys in the open fitting room and I wasn’t wearing underpants. I dropped trou, just like the other four. Fortunately, my tie-dyed t-shirt was extra long and I pulled it down as far as I could in order to better conceal my goodies.

I thought I was going to get away with being without underpants until the tailor knelt down in front of me in order to measure my inseam. Holding his cloth measuring tape in one hand, he pulled up my t-shirt with the other.

Uh oh!

Kneeling, my junk directly in front of his face at eye-level, the tailor seemed totally unfazed. He looked up at me with a blank expression on his face, as if this was a common occurrence, and politely asked, “Will you be wearing underpants at the wedding?”

That was the day I stopped going commando.

FOWC with Fandango — Junk

Fandango21 Comments
FOWC

It’s July 13, 2022. Welcome to Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (aka, FOWC). I will be posting each day’s word just after midnight Pacific Time (U.S.).

Today’s word is “junk.”

Write a post using that word. It can be prose, poetry, fiction, non-fiction. It can be any length. It can be just a picture or a drawing if you want. No holds barred, so to speak.

Once you are done, tag your post with #FOWC and create a pingback to this post if you are on WordPress. Please check to confirm that your pingback is there. If not, please manually add your link in the comments.

And be sure to read the posts of other bloggers who respond to this prompt. Show them some love.

Friday Fictioneers — Bad Karma

Fandango17 Comments

“Mommy look,” Jess said, pointing to a baby’s highchair on the sidewalk surrounded by trash. “Can we take it home for my baby doll?”

“No, sweetheart,” Jess’ mother said. “It has a bad karma.”

“What is karma, Momma?” Jess asked.

“It’s hard to explain, honey,” her mother said, “but seeing such a nice highchair on the sidewalk surrounded by junk gives me the willies.”

“What are the willies, Momma?” Jess asked.

“Just bad feelings, like something’s not quite right.”

“So what is wrong with that highchair?” Jess asked.

“Someone tossed it out,” her mother answered. “And that haunts me.”

(99 words)

Written for today’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Roger Bultot.

#TMAT120 — Going Commando

Fandango9 Comments

I was an usher at an out-of-town wedding and had to get fitted for a tuxedo. All of the men in the wedding party went to the tailor together. We were in a large fitting room when the tailor instructed us to remove our trousers.

Back then I was a hippie who went commando (i.e., I didn’t wear underpants). I dropped trou and there I was with four other guys in the fitting room and I was the only one fully “exposed.”

The tailor knelt down in front of me, my junk in front of his face at eye-level. Unfazed, he looked up at me with a blank expression, and politely asked, “Will you be wearing underpants at the wedding?”

(Exactly 120 words)

9B646C9D-1F1C-4DD6-A2BB-E2848E7E71C6This post was written for this months Tell Me a Tale in (Exactly) 120 Words (#TMAT120) prompt. The challenge is to write about “a funny event in your life.”

Note: this is a highly edited, cut down version of a much longer, 487 word post I wrote in July 2017. If you’re interested in reading the original, click HERE.

Sunday Photo Fiction — One Man’s Junk

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F4463EFA-0E1A-43E9-82C0-17A0642EC950When the fierce windstorm blew down a large limb from the old tree tree in his backyard, it fell on the two old rocking chairs that Archie kept on his patio, which he reluctantly decided to trash.

Archie took the two chairs and put them on his front lawn. He dragged the felled tree branch and placed it across the two chairs and then called a local trash company to haul it away.

About an hour later there was a knock at the door. Archie headed to the front door and flung it open. “Yeah?” he said.

“Is that yours?” a man said, pointing to the chairs and tree branch draped over them.

“Yeah,” Archie said. “I’ve arranged to have ‘em hauled off tomorrow, so don’t worry about it. It will be gone soon.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” the man responded. “I’m the associate curator for the Museum of Modern Art. I was walking by, took a picture, and sent it to my boss. He wants to display it as is in an exhibit at the museum.”

“Seriously?” Archie said. “Well, I guess what they is true.”

“What’s that?” the man asked.

“One man’s junk is another man’s treasure.”

Written for Sue Spaulding’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Photo credit: yours truly. Taken at the de Young Museum in Golden Gate Park. Also for my FOWC prompt from yesterday, “fierce.”

Friday Fictioneers — Monstrosity

Fandango18 Comments

img_0332“Oh my God, Henry,” Charlotte said. “I send you out to the garage to get rid of all the junk in there so that both our cars can fit and then come out here to find this monstrosity in our backyard? What is wrong with you?”

“Monstrosity?” Henry objected. “This is a work of art, Charlotte. Look at it! It’s worthy of being displayed at the MOMA, for crissake.”

“I’ll not have your junk sculpture spoiling our backyard,” Charlotte said.

“Fine,” Henry said. “But if I move it back into the garage, there won’t be any room for your car.”

(100 words)

Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. photo credit: Ted Strutz

 

 

Going Commando

Fandango41 Comments

Image result for inseam measurement

I admit that I’m cheating. Linda’s prompt for this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday challenge is to write a post about the title of a book you’re currently reading or one that is closest to you as you write this post.

Sorry Linda, but I’m not doing that today. Not exactly, anyway.

Yesterday’s WordPress one-word prompt was the word “tailor.” I wrote a post that referenced spy novels, including one by John le Carré, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. I am neither currently reading that book nor is it close to me at the moment.

But after I’d published my post for the “tailor” prompt yesterday, I recalled a long-suppressed memory of the last time I’d gone to a tailor, something I don’t do very often. I’m an off-the-rack kind of a guy.

Anyway, I remembered one very mortifying experience visiting a tailor. It was many years ago. I mean MANY years ago. Here’s the story of that experience.

My sister was getting married in a far away city and I was an usher. Her fiancé made an appointment with a local tailor for his ushers (and his father) to get fitted for our wedding party tuxes. Five of us piled into a car and headed to the tailor.

Upon our arrival, the tailor herded all of us into a large, communal fitting room so that he could get our measurements for the tuxes. He then instructed us all to remove our shirts and trousers.

So what’s the big deal you ask? Well, back then I was a bit of a hippie. Long hair, beard, tie-dyed t-shirts, and bell-bottomed jeans.

I also went commando. Just in case you don’t know what that means, going commando involves not wearing underpants beneath your pants. For men, it’s sometimes referred to as “free-balling.”

The day we had the appointment with the tailor, I had on my bell-bottomed jeans and I was, as usual, not wearing underpants. I guess I wasn’t thinking about where we were going or what we would be doing.

So there I was with four other guys in the open fitting room and I wasn’t wearing underpants. I dropped trou, just like the other four. Fortunately, my tie-dyed t-shirt was extra long and I pulled it down as far as I could in order to better conceal my goodies.

I thought I was going to get away with being without underpants until the tailor knelt down in front of me in order to measure my inseam. Holding his cloth measuring tape in one hand, he pulled up my t-shirt with the other.

Uh oh!

Kneeling, my junk directly in front of his face at eye-level, the tailor seemed totally unfazed. He looked up at me with a blank expression on his face, as if this was a common occurrence, and politely asked, “Will you be wearing underpants at the wedding?”

That was the day I stopped going commando.