If you don’t remember the origin of this series (or, more likely, you’ve just stumbled upon this posting in your quest for pictures of naive boy scouts and have no idea what I’m on about), you can catch up here with Part I, here with Part II, here with Part III, here with Part IV, and here with Part V. Just don’t expect reading those entries to help any of this make sense and you’ll be fine. The rules are simple: using the writing prompt book Write the Story, include the ten provided words (underlined in this text) in a story using the given title. Failure to do so results in finding yourself on stage, in front of an audience of your parents and peers, wearing nothing but a speedo and a cape that inexplicably has the word “PHOTOGRAPHER” emblazoned across it.
A Lunch Date Gone Wrong
Is it hot in here, or is it just me? Things were going so well, the relationship seemed back on track. And then…the carnival came back to town.
She started showing up late for dates, or putting them off. Without explanation.
I admit it. I got jealous. I began to assume the worst: she was going to leave me for that cult. When we started dating again, I made a promise to myself. OK, two promises:
I would get all the facts instead of jumping to conclusions.
I would never again roller skate nude under the full moon.
Without using mosquito repellent. You can only draw blood from scratching bug bites too hard so many times before you swear that oath.
So here we are, our brunch date now a lunch date due to her inexplicable tardiness, having a ‘discussion’ over a mango salad about her career, her needs, her hopes and desires. And how they don’t include assuming the traditional housewife role, or monogamy, or, worst of all, punctuality.
My sweet tea couldn’t taste more bitter. I struggle to hold back, to refrain from pitting my rapid-fire questions against her inconsistent logic. She was never late before the carnival returned. She never came over to my place smelling like pipe tobacco and my ex-wife’s favorite perfume before the carnival came to town. We never talked about marriage in the days preceding the cultists’ return.
So why now?
But her apparent calm and detachment only served to fuel my fears that she had tired of me and was returning to her old ways. Leaving me alone, divorced with no path back to my ex, doomed to online dating and online / offline rejection.
So of course I exploded, all of my fears and insecurities a festering eruption that poisoned the conversation, the meal, the entire ambiance of the restaurant. And as she stormed off, her sweet tea just as bitter now as mine but dripping from my face and hair, I had to wonder if this had been her intention all along.
Spread the word! Can't stop the signal!
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ian m dudley 
Your Significant Other Will Dump You If You Order The Veal And These Other Items
If you don’t remember the origin of this series (or, more likely, you’ve just stumbled upon this posting in your quest for pictures of naive boy scouts and have no idea what I’m on about), you can catch up here with Part I, here with Part II, here with Part III, here with Part IV, and here with Part V. Just don’t expect reading those entries to help any of this make sense and you’ll be fine. The rules are simple: using the writing prompt book Write the Story, include the ten provided words (underlined in this text) in a story using the given title. Failure to do so results in finding yourself on stage, in front of an audience of your parents and peers, wearing nothing but a speedo and a cape that inexplicably has the word “PHOTOGRAPHER” emblazoned across it.
A Lunch Date Gone Wrong
Is it hot in here, or is it just me? Things were going so well, the relationship seemed back on track. And then…the carnival came back to town.
She started showing up late for dates, or putting them off. Without explanation.
I admit it. I got jealous. I began to assume the worst: she was going to leave me for that cult. When we started dating again, I made a promise to myself. OK, two promises:
I would get all the facts instead of jumping to conclusions.
I would never again roller skate nude under the full moon.
Without using mosquito repellent. You can only draw blood from scratching bug bites too hard so many times before you swear that oath.
So here we are, our brunch date now a lunch date due to her inexplicable tardiness, having a ‘discussion’ over a mango salad about her career, her needs, her hopes and desires. And how they don’t include assuming the traditional housewife role, or monogamy, or, worst of all, punctuality.
My sweet tea couldn’t taste more bitter. I struggle to hold back, to refrain from pitting my rapid-fire questions against her inconsistent logic. She was never late before the carnival returned. She never came over to my place smelling like pipe tobacco and my ex-wife’s favorite perfume before the carnival came to town. We never talked about marriage in the days preceding the cultists’ return.
So why now?
But her apparent calm and detachment only served to fuel my fears that she had tired of me and was returning to her old ways. Leaving me alone, divorced with no path back to my ex, doomed to online dating and online / offline rejection.
So of course I exploded, all of my fears and insecurities a festering eruption that poisoned the conversation, the meal, the entire ambiance of the restaurant. And as she stormed off, her sweet tea just as bitter now as mine but dripping from my face and hair, I had to wonder if this had been her intention all along.
Spread the word! Can't stop the signal!
Like this:
Posted by ianmdudley on 20 November 2018 in Angst, Life, Writing, writing prompts
Tags: Am I mistaken or are the tags longer than the actual post this time around? If only I could say that was a first..., assume, balancing your life and your better half's career, career, carnival, cult, duogamy - sounds like it involves dogs so no thank you, eruption, fire, full moon, getting dumped, getting dumped over (an expensive) dinner is another recurring theme in my (past I hope!) life, housewife, I have never been late to a date where I was dumped. I suppose that's worth something. Right?, I lost so many girlfriends to cults that I am forced to wonder if possibly it wasn't the cults but something to do with me., I've been dumped over more salads than I care to (or can) remember. It's why I'm so averse to vinaigrette salad dressings., Is your girlfriend planning to kill you? Probably. You jerk., Is your significant other late because they've been kidnapped/in a car accident/due to a shopping mishap or because they're plotting to kill you? Hope for the best but plan for the worst..., losing your appetite due to being dumped while eating, monogamy, nurse, People never seem to fall into a cult of science...anymore., pipe smoke and your ex-wife's perfume - a devastating combination, promise, public breakup, public humiliation, public shame, punctuality is a virtue of the single it turns out, Riding the Deet train to Bugsville, Roller blading in the nude is an entirely different story. You can roller blade fast enough that the mosquitoes can't keep up., roller skate, salad, sweet, sweet tea as a repellent of bugs (and exes), The carnival coming back to town preceded an uncomfortably large number of the bad events in my life., Those of you who come here because of the childhood Boy Scout picture seriously need to seek therapy and / or stop using the internet., To be completely honest this title hit too close to home as I've never had a lunch date NOT go wrong, trigonogamy - only sleeping with people who fully understand trigonometry?, Turns out there IS a character limit to these tags. Rats., When my writing prompt posts get a hit I fear people found it by accident and stop reading a sentence in. If you read all of it please comment so I know it was just interesting enough to finish., writing prompts