Weekly Wordzzle

Wordzzle! Wordzzle! Wordzzle! I just like saying it. Sometimes I call it WordIZZLE and sometimes I call it WORDzle. It amuses me. Yes, I’m in an odd mood. Fortunately for you, I wrote these stories earlier this afternoon when I was in a more normal mood. Or what passes for normal for me.

Anyway, after you read my stories please go to Raven’s Nest to check out the other creations.

Words for the mini: foster children, window washer, chipmunks, chip, pillage

“Watch your steps dearies,” Druscilla said to the foster children from next door, carefully wending her way through the spoils of her recent antiquing venture. She had to admit that the pillage was out of control, and she once again felt a twinge of guilt at getting the goods so cheaply. Fortunately the twinge was short lived. It didn’t do to have too much of a conscience in this business. The children were chattering like chipmunks (or at least like Chip & Dale), never having seen so much old stuff in one place before. “Ok, I have jobs for both of you. Who wants to be the window washer and who wants to dust?”

Next door, Cecilia luxuriated in her scented bath. Paying fifty dollars to that old bat next door was a small price to pay to get the children out from under foot for two hours. Perhaps she could work it into her budget to do once per week. Ahhh….

Druscilla watched her laborers with a small smile on her face. When they finished here she was going to take them to the bank to open savings accounts. Twenty-five dollars each was a nice healthy start for these two. And she knew from experience that they’d need all the help they could get.

Words for the 10-worder: parapet, fluster, farm grown, astonishing, march, start from scratch, still crazy, ice cubes, fetid, goose

I am not easy to fluster, but the whole situation is just astonishing. Astonishing I tell you! Why, my pulse is still crazy just thinking about it. Let me start from scratch with my story. It will astound you as well, I’m sure.

I wanted farm grown tomatoes. A simple desire, and I decided to go to an actual farm to get them. March Hare Farm is just down in the next county, so I headed there one fine summer afternoon. I had parked in the farm yard and proceeded to the door of the house, when I felt a missile strike me on my left shoulder. Perplexed, I looked around for its source. And felt another blow to my back. I whirled around (getting annoyed at this point) and looked up. Upon the parapet on the roof (for that is what it resembled) was a goose! And it was flinging what appeared to be ice cubes in my direction! Ice cubes!

Well, I hied myself under the safety of the porch roof and pounded on the door. To the fetid hag who answered the door I shouted, “Goose! Ice Cubes! Parapet!” while trying to not breathe the air around her (I’m fairly certain she had not bathed in many days). She stared at me uncomprehendingly for about 30 seconds before she said, very slowly, in a loud, stern voice, “Harold, you are to get down off the roof now, take off that blasted goose costume, and apologize to this lady!” Then with what I supposed she thought was a kindly smile, she asked, “Now, ma’am, how can I help you?” At that point I was quite sure that I didn’t want anything from this insane asylum, so I just told her I had changed my mind and raced for my car.

Can you believe that? I took pictures of the bruises in case I ever needed to testify in court. You know, because folks like that will surely be arrested for something someday. Why, I can’t help but wonder how many bodies are buried under those tomato plants even now.

Wait – I heard that. I am not “melodramatic much!” I’m not!