They never give me the best parts.
Just a thought . . .
You know that point in a film when the bad guy tells the trapped sucker that unless they do this thing–usually some horrible act of betrayal–the said bad guys will kill your mom, your wife, your kids, and maybe even your coffee barista?
Just a heads up if you are ever in that situation: from countless theatrical examples, once you complete the required act, you find out they have already killed your loved ones, and you are next! So just man (or woman) up and do the right thing!
I find myself screaming this at television screens! And yet . . .
The missing piece . . .
Apparently, our new dog likes puzzles as much as we do. The newest dog treat!
My House Is Haunted
My house is haunted.
I detect the wily ways she uses to move about, subtle but there,
My husband notices dishes that I have previously washed—meticulously, I might add—and they will have miniscule specks of baked on something or other. Not enough to be “dirty,” but just enough to be irritating.
She is saying, “I’m here; get used to it.”
Shoes I have put away appear in walkways so that I almost trip over them if I’m not careful. She sprinkles dust in the night. She leaves the light on in the garage, burning electricity, making me burning mad.
What is probably most disturbing is that every so often she appears in my mirror, her white, disheveled hair, her wrinkled brow,
those staring eyes.
I stare back; I glare back, but
I cannot be too irritated for too long because she does look familiar;
and she looks to have stories to tell; and yet,
she seems trapped, prowling around, haunting my house.