Dean’s wife was in one of her moods, she had a lot of moods, that girl, and she burst into the party baited for bear. Dean tried to head her off but she went straight over to this good-looking kid in the corner, came right up to him, put her hand on his chest, inside his shirt, and looked up. “Guess what,” she smiled, “it’s your lucky night.” The kid smiled back and asked why. “Because I’m the most beautiful woman you’re ever going to sleep with,” she said, and she would have been too but his mother was there.
I stood outside his gate after an all-nighter watching him chop wood. He was a little guy, beautifully dressed, polished shoes, leather patches on the sleeves of his tweed jacket. He saw me gawking and in this soft light voice, almost like a girl’s, asked if I’d like to help him mow the hay. “Yessir!” I cried. I couldn’t believe it. I ran toward the porch. And then the damndest thing happened, the sky opened up and it began to rain, buckets of rain, and to this day I regret that I couldn’t help Mr. Faulkner bring in the hay.
No. 2 didn’t make sense. Other two are good!
Oh, takes me right back to Arkansas and listening to Skip and Jim swap stories.
Wonderful. I recall you trying to teach us this art of micro-stories. Thanks.pp
Love these….I’d have guessed they were yours!
Simply wonderful.
I love the way you’ve seasoned your work with humor, with the right dose.
I love these, Molly! Of course, I’ve loved everything of yours, so no surprise. 🙂