Pleeeeeease

The students in my third period have been begging to watch a movie since the year started, the same movie, over and over. “Pleeeeeease. It’s the best movie ever!” It’s one of the few things I’ve seen unite a cheerleader, a country boy, and a preacher’s kid.

I’ve caught them huddled around phones streaming it. “Put it up,” I’m tired of saying.

Two days ago, after the six weeks exam, the choral pleas began anew. I decided it would make a good reward.

It’s not what you think:

My kids blissfully settled in to watch Webber’s Phantom of The Opera.

 

An Open Letter to Stephen Moffatt:

I started watching the New Doctor Who in Season 7 then went back to catch up with 1-6. The Doctor was charming, morose, manic, courageous, and everything in between. Watching the previous seven seasons, I came to know The Doctor quite well. Episodes moved me to tears, both of laughter and sheer overwhelming emotion. Season 8 has none of the soul of the previous ones.

I don’t know what you thought you accomplished by making the plots banal and The Doctor unsympathetic, but it’s not what you think. You accomplished what the Silence could not do: You killed The Doctor.

 

Night Terror

Carl and I were outside taking Sophie for her before bed walkies. The yard was quiet, and the oppressive humidity of summer had finally given way to breathable air. A sudden flurry as we approached the oak in the side yard elicited a shrill scream as I ran from the bat, sure it carried rabies and would attack each of us in quick succession. Sophie, unfazed by my frantic dance, continued sniffing around the forsythia for signs of rabbit incursions.

Carl came calmly over and said, “It’s OK. It’s not what you think. It’s just a roosting dove we disturbed.”

 

Conversation overheard outside the bedroom:

Him: “Are you ready?”

Her: “Yes.”

Him: “Are you sure?”

Her: “Yes. Just stick it in.”

Him: “I’m worried about hurting you.”

Her: “You won’t. It’s fine.”

A few minutes pass.

Her: “Did you do it? Are you done?”

Him: “Yes.”

Her: “I didn’t feel anything.”

It’s not what you think.

This was our absolutely real conversation the first time Carl gave me shots for a migraine. Being the one getting shots is nothing compared to plunging a 2” needle into the flesh of a loved one. Thankfully, no one really overheard as I reflected how it would have sounded.

 

I completed this post as an assignment for my Writing 101 class to create a series of vignettes linked somehow by a single thread. Since I struggle with short form writing, I also chose to make each vignette 100 words. I hope you found them fun!