Move over #soccer. I like playing the game What If? #MFRWorg

Hey, don't hate me because soccer isn't my favorite game. LOL

 

Actually, I didn't grow up with soccer. Football reigns here. But then, my cousin began playing and I accompanied my aunt and uncle to his games. And since we went to the same university, I watched him play there.

But there are other games. For example, this car game:

What if a friend decided to play a silly Q & A while driving home from a fun girl weekend?

What if she asked the question, “Write the opening words of a book using the word window.”

What if your answer was doggie doo-doo?

That was the boat I rowed the weekend I was prompted to write. And I had nothing and I was embarrassed I had nothing. And I think my friend knew I had nothing for she added, “You can always email us something later.”

An out. Sorta.

Two days after the trip, I sat at my computer with the TV blaring in the background, thinking “I can do this.”

I did. Sorta. I wrote eight chapters.

And I was addicted. I kept going back and adding and editing, etc. Finally, I grew brave and asked my friend to read it. She returned the file to me and said, “Keep going.”

Awfully nice of her. LOL

So what if a girl is pulled over by a cop?

What if parts are missing from her new ride?

What if the cop is someone she doesn’t recognize?

What if?????

Here’s a tease from my soon to be released funny, romantic mystery, Temporarily Employed:

“Yuck.”

Pretty much covered the whole freakin’ day.

A blinding red-white, red-white strobe, reflected in my brand new Wrangler’s rearview mirror, seized my attention. The police. I tossed my hands skyward, ready to surrender. I shouldn’t have been too surprised. Like I'd commented this a.m. to my roommate, Jenny, “Today, anything’s possible.”

My Bad Day checklist included:

- Crappy job interview, one which might have provided desperately needed income.

- Wore gut-busting panty hose on a hot day which had now worked past my waist and strangled my diaphragm.

- A barely blowing air conditioner indicated something had malfunctioned in my new, fun car.

I stole another glance in the mirror, and with great reluctance, flipped the right turn indicator. My vehicle coasted to a stop on the shoulder of Boston Avenue in my hometown of Sommerville, a nice suburb located between two large cities. Four lanes of cars and trucks zipped by as I sat there where every single one of my family, friends, friends’ friends, and their friends—including Rat Fink Suzanne—would see a police vehicle positioned right behind mine. Gleefully, drivers would chant the “Ha-ha, got you, not me” ditty.

How embarrassing.

After killing the engine, I flopped back in the seat. Shooting the morons the finger was an idea. Nah. I'm too exhausted to care.

A litany of: "No, not hiring." "Just filled the position." "You're over qualified." "You're under qualified…" tornadoed through my head. Coupled with the intense job search through various outlets like the internet and completing numerous online employment applications, no wonder my body had been depleted of all life force.

Not even a breeze blew to take the edge off the unbearable summertime heat. Tangled wild trees and dry scrubby bushes banked the roadside. The grass had taken on a scorched look. Rolling down the driver’s window, I surveyed my surroundings. Nothing great. Nothing new.

I stole a glance in the side mirror at the policeman who strode purposefully along the shoulder. The gravel crunched under his boots. He looked huge, probably because his uniform, which appeared to be bulked with a bullet-proof vest, made him resemble a buffed-up superhero in size. Exceedingly intimidating.

Sigh. When things went wrong, they were really wrong.

As I viewed him drawing closer, my heart pounded harder. Awkward circumstances usually brought out the worst in me like shyness, ineptness, and uh...more shyness, hang-ups I carried from childhood. Back in the dark ages, I’d deliberately steered clear of embarrassing situations by developing the best self-protection— avoidance. Over time, I’d adapted to embarrassment, but every now and then, some unusual situation would spring out, and like a stealthy cat, those old prickly feelings crept back inside me.

The policeman stopped by the driver’s side, his head slanted to better peer inside.

Up close and exceptionally personal, I saw his sunglasses with dark lenses which shielded his eyes.

“Ma’am, I’m Officer Wellborn. I need to see your driver's license and proof of insurance—”

Something unknown possessed me. I bulldozed in and snapped in an overly loud voice, “What do you want? Why did you pull me over?”

His body stiffened like a package of frozen chocolate chip cookie dough.


How do you like my game? LOL What's your favorite?

Vicki Batman is greatly rejoicing for someone took pity and liked her story so much, they wanted to publish it. With diet Dr. Pepper next to her monitor, she is busy updating No. 2 story because maybe they will like it too. Find updates about Temporarily Employed at: http://vickibatman.blogspot.com