Rory Does It Again

5fb252a6-1409-4622-bf90-ca23cbab1d9bRory, aka A Guy Called Bloke, was nominated for the coveted Liebster Award and paid it forward by nominating my blog for the award, along with seven other bloggers. Of course, there’s some mistake because the Liebster Award focuses on blogs with fewer than 200 followers and mine has more than 1,600. And also, my blog is an award-free blog.

Nonetheless, when Rory asks, I answer. So here goes.

If vampires can’t see their reflections, why is their hair always so neat?

It’s in their blood. Or perhaps in the blood of their latest, well-groomed victim.29A28516-F30D-4ED8-BB19-9EE1C481E9AA.jpeg

If a kid refuses to sleep during nap time, are they guilty of resisting a rest?

No, they are just behaving inappropriately.

If they weren’t called grapes and you had the opportunity to rename them, what would you call them?

Pre-raisins.

If the grass wasn’t green what color would you make it?

Brown. That way you couldn’t tell the grass from the brown spots on my lawn.93b5ec9d-d312-430e-a334-3f6ef0dd1f79

Has your imaginary friend ever had an imaginary friend, or just you?

My imaginary friend left me for his imaginary friend. Talk about being jilted.

So, dance in the rain, wallow in the mud or naked angel in the snow?

What do you think a naked skier like me would say? I’d dance naked in a mud puddle in the rain.

Can you describe your blog to me without using the letters i and e?

A blog about ths, that, and th othr.

What are you afraid of becoming?

Irrelevant. Oh wait. Too late. Dammit.

Sunday Photo Fiction — The Playhouse

78CBBBF6-0481-4433-8B4B-EFAFBBD25579Amanda came running into the house that her father and mother were looking at and excitedly asked, “Daddy, can we buy this house?”

“Do you like this house?” he asked her.

“Oh yes,” Amanda said. “There’s a playhouse in the backyard, Daddy. It looks like a Hansel and Gretel house.”

“Is it made out of candy and treats?” Amanda’s father asked her.

“Daddy, don’t be silly,” Amanda laughed. “But it looks like a storybook cottage. Come see.”

As it turned out, Amanda’s parents bought the house with the playhouse in the backyard. It came with a small table and chairs and shelves on the walls, and Amanda moved her dolls and stuffed animals onto the shelves and set up her tea set on the table. She would go to the playhouse every day to play tea party with her dolls, stuffed animals, and her imaginary friend.

Until one day when she came running into the house it tears. “What’s the matter, sweetie?” her mother asked.

“She tore apart my dolls and stuffed toys,” Amanda cried.

“Who did?” her mother asked.

“My friend who lives in the playhouse.”

Amanda’s mother followed Amanda to the playhouse and looked inside, and screamed.015B13FD-4F98-4AA1-8DF9-9D40B02AA12B

(199 words)


Written for Susan Spaulding’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Top photo credit: Susan Spaulding. Old hag image credit: Google Images.