I have written a number of short stories, primarily for a local writing contest. Only one made it even into the finals - but it made it all the way to the magazine. Anyway, I thought I would share another "losing story" with you. In this one, we were given several starting lines to choose from. I don't think this is the complete story, but it'll give you a taste....
I get kidnapped all the time. Well, not literally, but it sure feels that
way. And it’s been going on for a long
time.
When I first got my license as a
teenager, my mother would get me to run to the store for her, or drive Granny
Ethel to her doctors’ appointments. If I
fussed in the slightest, she would say, “Driving is a privilege, not a
right. You can just hand those keys over
to me.” And, of course, like the captive
slave that I was, I would do whatever errands she had in store for me.
Who would have thought that I would
wind up married to a woman who can’t drive.
In this day and age, I can’t imagine anyone not learning how to
drive. Polly is such a control freak
about everything else in her life – you would think that she would want control
over her transportation, too. But I
guess she did. She had control over me.
While most men spent Saturdays
ensconced on the couch, watching whatever sport is in season on TV, I would
spend the entire day chauffeuring Polly from place to place. She liked doing the grocery shopping on
Saturday, so we would head to the Piggly Wiggly, then bring the groceries
home. As soon as they were put away,
Polly wanted to hit the sales at the mall.
I would rather have my fingernails pulled out one at a time with rusty
pliers than roam around the mall on a Saturday afternoon! Teenagers were everywhere, loud and
rowdy. I would shuffle after Polly from
store to store while she tried on clothes, picked out new sheets, and smelled
every candle and lotion on display at Bath & Body Works.
One Saturday, I noticed some of the
husbands relaxing in the sitting areas that I am sure the mall set us with men
in mind. They might be surrounded by
shopping bags, but they were sitting still, comfortable, waiting for their
women folk to finish with their errands.
So I decided to take a seat, too.
It didn’t take long for Polly to realize that I wasn’t trailing along
behind her like a shadow.
“What do you think you are doing,”
she asked sternly, arms crossed and foot tapping.
“I thought I’d just camp out here
until you are done with your shopping.
That way, you can take your time, and you’ll know exactly where to find
me.” I should have known that wouldn’t
fly. So, I had to do my own version of
the walk of shame – I had to slink away after Polly while the other men sat
there, either mocking me or pitying me in their hearts and minds. I was once again held hostage by my wife. I followed after her like a prisoner in
shackles. I was half tempted to start
singing the blues.
It wasn’t always the mall. Sometimes it was the pet store, where I
followed Polly as she picked out treats and toys for that snarling, yapping fur
ball that she called Fifi. Fifi was a
Pomeranian that probably weighed 8 pounds, but that dog hated me with every
fiber of her being. And the feeling was
mutual.
Other times, it was the discount
store to find big discounts on name brand products, or the nursery so that
Polly could pick out seasonal flowers and shrubs (making more work for the
prisoner), or the book store so that she could scoop up the latest trashy
romance novels. But all of those were
heaven compared to the hair salon. At
the hen house, as I preferred to call it, I was not allowed to wait in the
car. Polly wanted me inside with her
while she and the other biddies gossiped about everyone in town who did not
happen to be in the salon that day. I
tried to pass the time reading magazines, but Cosmopolitan and Good
Housekeeping were not my choices of reading material. After the grooming and gab fest was complete,
I was obliged to tell Polly how beautiful she was. It was expected.
When we finally got home on Saturday
evenings, all I wanted to do was a good dinner and to watch TV – anything at
all!
