A Story by M. Sandra Babcock
It's odd how something will occur that can spark the imagination - This story is based on an actual "crossing of paths" that occurred in May and my imagination soared from this chance encounter. I continue to see the character I named "George" and someday may have the courage to actually speak to him.
My orderly life was in turmoil. Stomach bulged, water leaked as I slid the designer creation by Omar-the-Tent-Maker over my swollen belly. The contents ached to be released.
George," I serenely said into the phone, "we have to go now? ! It was a question and a statement. Pregnant women can do these things.
Whaaatttt? You want me there? George replied, half asleep, his lisp barely noticeable. I heard the catch in his voice and a thick gel of memories oozed.
Madison, you do know hes homosexual. Mothers pompous English monologue filled the room. I stiffened like starched laundry and nodded.
Splendid eye for fashion, a drowsy giggle escaped, but, lacks ambiance. . .
Translation - George was no Mel Gibson and I possessed no eyes. I had to cut her off at the pass or get caught in the stampede.
I stopped looking at the package years ago, mother."
Phil's image flooded my mind as I spoke. Lush wind-blown flaxen locks, teeth whiter than mother's milk and a chiseled face that could make Michelangelo's David melt....
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