The Catered Affair

“Okay, so the menu is set,” Dave said. “The guests will have their choice of beef, chicken, or vegetarian meals.”

“What about Uncle George?” Elaine asked. “He eats only fish.”

“This is not a game, Elaine,” Dave said. “We’re not adding a fish meal option to the menu just because of that eccentric, ichthyophagous uncle of yours. I’m telling you, we’re going to stay the course.”

“Oh, Dave, how difficult would it be to add a fish option? I’m sure there are other guests who might prefer fish,” Elaine said.

“Fine!” Dave said, throwing his hand up in resignation. “I’ll call the caterers and see what they can do to add a fish option. I just don’t want anymore turmoil.”

“Thank you, honey,” Elaine said, giving her husband a peck on the cheek.

“Anything not to have to listen to your incessant whining,” Dave said.


Written for these daily prompts: The Daily Spur (game), Word of the Day Challenge (ichthyophagous), Ragtag Daily Prompt (stay), . Your Daily Word Prompt (turmoil), and Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (incessant).

Fandango’s Friday Flashback — August 14

Wouldn’t you like to expose your newer readers to some of you earlier posts that they might never have seen? Or remind your long term followers of posts that they might not remember? Each Friday I will publish a post I wrote on this exact date in a previous year.

How about you? Why don’t you reach back into your own archives and highlight a post that you wrote on this very date in a previous year? You can repost your Friday Flashback post on your blog and pingback to this post. Or you can just write a comment below with a link to the post you selected.

If you’ve been blogging for less than a year, go ahead and choose a post that you previously published on this day (the 14th) of any month within the past year and link to that post in a comment.


This was originally published on August 14, 2017 on this blog.

Don’t You Love Me Anymore?

IMG_2501“Sorry, honey, but I’m just not in the mood right now,” James told his wife.

“You never seem to be in the mood anymore,” Carolyn said, her eyes tearing up. “Don’t you love me anymore?”

“Of course I love you,” James reassured her. “But I just don’t feel like it right now.”

“You never seem to feel like it these days.”

“What are you talking about?” James asked. “We’ve done it three time in the past ten days.”

“You’re keeping count?” Carolyn said indignantly.

“No, I’m not keeping count, but I think we’ve been doing it too often lately.”

Carolyn glared at her husband. “Too often? Really? We used to do it much more often when we were first married. You were never not in the mood back then.”

Knowing he couldn’t win this, James relented. “Okay, fine,” he said, “Get your coat and we’ll head to Denny’s for dinner and then go see the movie.”

Carolyn beamed. “See,” she said. “I always know how to get you in the mood.”


Written for Sandi’s Manic Monday challenge to write a post about the 1939 song from the Glenn Miller Orchestra, “In The Mood.”

First Line Friday — Reconnecting

4D2FE010-5CE3-4ADB-B1CC-506C99417764Lush melodies drew her to the door of the lounge, the friendly smiles enticed her inside. But as soon as she entered the room, she was hit by an atmosphere thick with the aroma of cigars. It reminded her of her father and a room in their house, which was actually a spare bedroom, when she was a young girl. It was the one place in their home where her mother permitted her father to smoke his cigars. This place smelled just like that room, and she wondered if all the men in the lounge would smell like her father did each time he emerged from that room of his. Strangely, the thought being in a room with men who smelled like her father both repelled and attracted her.

She made her way through the fog of cigar smoke until she reached the bar, where a man wearing a fedora was sitting by himself sipping on a martini and puffing away on a fat cigar. She stood next to him and asked the bartender to fix her a vodka martini, which he did. The bartender asked her if she wanted to start a tab. “Put it on my tab,” the man in the fedora said.

She sat down next to him. “Thanks,” she said. He tipped his head and said, “You’re welcome. We don’t get many classy dames like you in this place. What brings you here?”

“I was supposed to have dinner at the restaurant next door with my father, but he stood me up. I haven’t seen him in over ten years, since shortly after my mother died, and I was hoping to reconnect with him tonight. But when he never showed, I didn’t feel like sitting there by myself, so I left the restaurant and came over here when I heard the music,” she explained.

“Ah, that’s why you’re all dolled up,” he said, giving her the once over. “Your old man must be a fool to have left you sitting all alone like that.”

“Thank you, I guess. I’m Monica,” she said, extending a hand. “And you are?”

He took her hand and squeezed gently. “I’m Frank. Pleased to meet you, Monica,” he said. “That’s a nice name.”

“My father’s name was Frank,” Monica said. “Like you, he enjoyed his cigars.” Monica looked more closely at the man sitting next to her. “Would you mind taking your hat off? I want to see your face.”

“Sure, babe, whatever you want,” Frank said, removing his hat and putting it on the bar to his left.

Monica let out a gasp. “Oh my God,” she said. “You look remarkably like my father when he was a younger man.”

“Should I be flattered or insulted?” Frank asked, a smile on his face.

Monica had heard her father use that expression many times over the years. A weird feeling came over her. “What is your last name?” she asked Frank.

“Grayson,” he said. “Frank Grayson, but my friends call me Smitty.”

Monica felt faint. “This can’t be happening,” she said. “My last name is Grayson and my father’s nickname is Smitty. Is this some kind of a sick joke? She stood up, put down her drink, grabbed her wrap, and ran toward the door.

“Hey, honey, it’s 1955,” Frank yelled as she was leaving. “You need to lighten up in these modern times.”

As Monica left the lounge, Rod Serling appeared just outside the door. “Monica missed her estranged father terribly,” he said, “but when he didn’t show up for dinner tonight, she left the restaurant and walked into the past, where she finally met her father again…in a cigar lounge called The Twilight Zone.”


Written for the First Line Friday prompt from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie. The first line is “Lush melodies drew her to the door of the lounge, the friendly smiles enticed her inside.” Image credit: “Cigar Bar Evening Lounge” by Brent Lynch.

FOWC with Fandango — Dinner

FOWCWelcome to April 23, 2020 and to Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (aka, FOWC). It’s designed to fill the void after WordPress bailed on its daily one-word prompt.

I will be posting each day’s word just after midnight Pacific Time (US).

Today’s word is “dinner.”

Write a post using that word. It can be prose, poetry, fiction, non-fiction. It can be any length. It can be just a picture or a drawing if you want. No holds barred, so to speak.

Once you are done, tag your post with #FOWC and create a pingback to this post if you are on WordPress. Or you can simply include a link to your post in the comments.

The issue with pingbacks not showing up seems to have been resolved, but you might check to confirm that your pingback is there. If not, please manually add your link in the comments.

  1. And be sure to read the posts of other bloggers who respond to this prompt. You will marvel at their creativity.