Comments on: 55Friday: The “Blue Jean” Edition

By: lurker

lurker — Wed, 22 Nov 2006 11:09:17 +0000

Asha’s Dad, your mom is a venerable treasure chest of traumatic inspiration? So’s mine, yet I never wrote anything that good

By: monologist

monologist — Wed, 22 Nov 2006 09:28:07 +0000

Jai = swoon

Asha’s dad I’m wowed by your mom.

thekingsigh- I love reading your 55s

By: thekingsingh

thekingsingh — Wed, 22 Nov 2006 00:15:58 +0000

The car door slammed shut. It was quiet inside.

Not like out there, where everything was spinning out of his grasp. With a jingle of the keys, the car roared to life. Needles and lights danced. He placed his hands on the steering wheel, preparing to show the world who the one was in control.

By: Asha's dad

Asha's dad — Tue, 21 Nov 2006 23:35:18 +0000

We returned from the movie and walked into my room to find a present left by my mother. I paused in disbelief. My eyebrows lurched upward and my chin dropped ever so slightly.

There it was resting comfortably against the pillows, a bright orange rectangular box, almost floating on the freshly made bedspread.

Â“Lifestyle CondomsÂ”

By: Asha's dad

Asha's dad — Tue, 21 Nov 2006 23:22:26 +0000

I stared into the toilet at the regurgitated flotsam of beans and mash potatoes. I had made good on my threat of vomiting if served green beans.

30 minutes later, my mom returned. She kept her promise and cooked an entire package of green beans.

Â“Throw up a single bean and IÂ’m driving right back.Â”

By: A N N A

A N N A — Tue, 21 Nov 2006 18:30:10 +0000

Asha’s Dad…you’re taking REQUESTS?! Squeeeee, bitches! The second one, which starred your Mom did give me chills, as I attempted to lamely relay earlier via the sweater ref. I would love to know why you don’t eat green beans, since I’ve written entire stories about how I can’t have onions (thanks, Mom!). I’m thrilled– we have so many good writers at the Mutiny.

By: t-hype

t-hype — Tue, 21 Nov 2006 17:28:09 +0000

Actually, Anna, that kind of shocked me after I wrote it.

Also, I'm cosigning you on Asha's Dad. My favorite: neither Victoria's nor a secret - lol!

By: Jai Singh

Jai Singh — Tue, 21 Nov 2006 17:01:26 +0000

I bet Anna's shocked at my own autobiographical anecdote in post #10 -- no doubt it sounds wildly unrealistic.

I suppose that is true. I don't actually have a superkingsized bed, for example.

By: Asha's Dad

Asha's Dad — Tue, 21 Nov 2006 15:16:55 +0000

Anna,

Thanks. Would you like more of the first or the second entry? My mom is a venerable treasure chest of traumatic inspiration. Someday I'll tell the green bean story (why I no longer eat green beans) or how my mom tried to be hip when I brought my college girlfriend home for the summer. (That's a tease...)

By: watevz

watevz — Tue, 21 Nov 2006 01:50:32 +0000

She started packing early in the week. She expected it to be just like the past few Thanksgivings. She wasnÂ’t sure if there would or would not be a turkey this year, depending on if the family vegetarians won out in the meat/no meat battle. But she was sure that after the pie and chai, right about the time she felt like crashing on the old living room couch to watch Cosby re-runs, her mother would reminisce about where they were last year.

Right here, in the same room, with the same people. No one new, her mother would think aloud.

And that would ignite the evening. Her father would turn on the computer and open the matrimonial site. He would fidget with the mouse, still a novice, a clear display that he used the computer for this purpose only. Her mother would stand dutifully behind her father as they clicked through doctor #1, doctor #2, doctor #3Â… They would call her from the other room, insisting she care about her future.

She would refuse to join the festivities, instead lying slothfully on the sofa. It was the same ritual every long weekend home.

You arenÂ’t getting any younger! Your birthday is coming next month! Do you know that GuddiÂ’s and RupiÂ’s daughters are married and they are three years younger than you?! Do you want us to die miserable?!

She stuffed in her favorite shirt between her jeans and sweater and locked her suitcase.

My life is a ritual, she thought, but one I canÂ’t let go of. Not yet.