(This should be read with a Southern Belle accent if at all possible.) Goodness Gracious! Our delicate sensibilities are all kerfuffled by the fact that Miss Lorna has been missin’ from our lives. It’s just not right.
Wow, a whole week has passed and not a word from me.
I have a very good excuse.
I’ve been busy.
No, not busy having fun in my underwear! I wish!
Generally, my time is kind of free. Usually, I just walk around and try not to tip over.
You try being dizzy all day…
You’ll hear about my shenanigans in a little while when I’m ready to break the news, but for now, you’ll have to settle for another 100-word submission to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers.
This week’s photo prompt comes to us from G.L. MacMillan. It’s pure fiction.
Libby Couldn’t Help Herself
Libby couldn’t help herself.
“Three-year-olds ain’t got the best judgment, Ma.” Libby’s mother repeated this same sentence countless times throughout the day.
“She ain’t gonna just hurt herself if she don’t stop climbing up that picnic table, she gonna break somethin’ we don’t got no money ta pay for.” Libby’s grandmother had the gift of foresight that comes from raising too many children and grandchildren.
“Jeez, Ma. Leave her be. She’s havin’ fun.”
Libby turned to her mother and smiled just as she was standing tip-toe on top of the picnic table, reaching for the pretty glass bottles. She wobbled.
(100 words)
*****
Should things slow down a bit for me, I’ll try to post something more dizzy blonde-ish in a few days.
I know that’s what you come here for.
I’ll dig deep and come up with something to tickle your fanny, er, um, fancy.
Lorna's Voice 