freckles

Sunday Writing Prompt — Ginger

Fandango16 Comments

I honestly didn’t know, when she was introduced to me at the tavern, if Ginger was her real name or if it was a nickname that people used because she had red hair. I’d never really been attracted to redheads, especially redheads with freckles all over their faces, but Ginger was stunning. I was instantly smitten and I couldn’t stop staring at her, which I knew made her feel uncomfortable.

“Is there something wrong with me?” she asked. “Or is there something wrong with you?”

“I’m so sorry for staring,” I said. “You must think I’m terribly rude, but I have never in my life seen anyone quite as ravishing as you.”

“Oh good,” she said. “Then there’s nothing wrong with me, but there’s definitely something wrong with you.”

I couldn’t tell if she was being serious or facetious. “Again, I apologize for my weird behavior and I can understand if you think I’m strange. I’m actually not at all weird or strange. I just find myself to be simultaneously enchanted and intimidated by your beauty.”

Ginger opened her eyes wide. “Then you clearly are weird and strange,” she said, but I noticed a slight smile on her face. “People call me Ginger for obvious reasons,” she added, “but my real name is Heather.” She put her hand out for me to shake, which, of course, I did.

“Nice to meet you, Heather,” I said. “Can I get you a drink from the bar?”

“That would be lovely,” she said.

“What would you like?” I asked.

“Now you’re going to think this is a bit of a cliché,” she said, “given my red hair and freckles that you find so intimidating, but I’d like a Baileys Irish Cream on the rocks, please.”

“One Baileys Irish Cream on the rocks coming up,” I said. Walking to the bar I was surprised at how this striking Irish lass had totally stolen my heart.

Written for the Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Sunday Writing Prompt, where the word is “ginger.” Image credit: VianaArts at DeviantArt.com.

The Astonishment

Fandango17 Comments

239B582E-01FC-4F9D-A78F-FB626B195F1BVictoria sat alone at the bar nursing her appletini. She was looking so forlorn that the bartender came over to her and asked her if she was all right.

“No, I’m not at all all right,” she said, as her eyes started to well up. “My goddam, feckless husband is cheating on me with one of his students.”

“That sucks,” the bartender said, sympathetically.

“Yeah, sucking him off is what my husband says that red-headed, green-eyed freckled-face bitch does really well,” Victoria said. “He’s making me go berserk.”

“She has green eyes, red hair, and freckles?” the bartender asked. “What’s her name?”

“Patty, and she’s a little tramp,” Victoria said.

“Where does your husband teach?” the bartender asked.

“He teaches creative writing at the community college,” Victoria said. “Why do you asked?”

“Is your last name Fowler?” the bartender asked. “Is your husband Professor Fowler?”

“Yes,” Victoria said. “How did you know?”

“Son of a bitch,” the bartender said. He threw down his bar rag, removed his apron, and ran out of the tavern.

Written for Teresa’s Three Things Challenge. Today’s three things are berserk, husband, and freckles.