Writing exercise

If you want to be a writer....then you have to write....One reason I originally started blogging was to give myself a medium to express my creative itch. So without further ado...her is a quick short story that helped to occupy the last 20 minutes of my day:

“Everything was fine till the police showed up at the blogging convention”

Monday: 10-12 play date for Billy
2-3:30 dance class for Catherine
5:15 pick up Sam from Soccer
6:30 pot-roast
Tuesday: 11am Brunch with Kim
1:30 Sing-ups for summer camp
2-3:30 painting studio for Catherine
5:15 pick up Sam from Soccer
6:30 Lasagna
Wednesday: 7:30 field trip to War Museum with Catherine & Billy
2-4:30 Mall trip for Spring wear
5:15 pick up Sam from Soccer
6:30 Salmon & asparagus
Thursday: 9:45 meeting with head of Milton Academy pre-school
11-2 Women’s blogging conference
2-3:30 dance class for Catherine
5:15 pick up Sam from Soccer
6:30 meatloaf & peas
8 William Sr. sick from arsenic
Friday: Parent/teacher day Kids at home
9 call ambulance for dead husband
10:30 call school to cancel appoints
11-2 act the grieving wife with friends
2-3:30 dance class for Catherine
5 bring Sam to sleepover
6:30 Hamburgers on the grill

Monday…check…Tuesday….check…Wednesday…check…Thursday…hmm…Thursday had a bit of a snag. Everything was fine till the police showed up at the blogging convention. What is more harmless then housewives meeting to discuss a forum to share ideas? I still plead my innocence. Sharon is the one who slowly feed her husband to death, using a combination of extra hot bubble baths and copious amounts of food. True…it is much harder to detect foul play when bumbling blimp calls wolf. Obviously his extreme obesity can’t be anyone’s fault but his own….brilliant, but too time consuming. I had a schedule to keep. If it worked for women of the past, I would just rather stick with a classic then reinvent the Bible.

Freedom of speech…free flow of ideas…isn’t that the point of the evolution of technology? So shoot me for putting bronze behind the brains, gumption behind the umption…actions speak louder than fingers numbly maneuvering over a keyboard…though, I didn’t expect my actions to be heard this loudly…opps.

But anyways, now it is Friday and my schedule is all off. No one is home to watch the kids but William. And obviously there is a problem with William or arsenic would not be such an appealing option. No one seems to understand the grave injustice underway. If not stopped, William will trod on in his pathetically pitiful existence and I will be stuck here. I do not think this jump suit goes with my complexion and play dates through Plexiglas are highly inconvenient.

I must speak with the Captain. He always seemed like a nice man. Though his wife Loraine did have tips of her own for disposing of her pompous, inefficient husband, so perhaps it’s best to button up my lips for the moment. I simply do not understand. All these eyes fixed on me as if witnessing a ravenous beast out of its natural habitat….destined to be out in a cage. But perhaps it was the cage that made the beast…time already spent in captivity that turned the creature murderous?

But back to the point, I refuse to accept their arrogance…is if this could never happen in their backyards. They choose to live in oblivion to the rustling mummers of discontent housewives, but I speak for the unheard, underappreciated masses. I speak, therefore I am. I am Mrs. William Butler Cartwright, housewife, mother, and go-getter.

Copyright 4/22/09 Cathy Kaminski