Eau d' Sunshine and a Very Short Romance Novel
Nothing memorable happened today. I didn't win the lottery that I never actually play; No one sent me love letters; my two slightly-used parakeets (Egg and Napkin) still hate me; I still haven't received a Nobel Prize; and Jude Law STILL refuses to dump his girlfriend and answer my calls. I am wallowing in utter despair.
However, due to the intoxicating effects of my new asthma drug, I did decide to go trotting around the especially smelly "Sunshine Thrift" store near my apartment. I think that eau d'Sunshine (a weird combination of rancid butter and body odor) is still wafting about my charming young person...
I managed to hold my breath long enough to purchase some cheap wooden boxes on which to paint (yes, I've been procrastinating for the upcoming erotic art show)-- as well as peruse the somewhat alarming and amusingly terrible romance novel section. I'm sadly addicted to collecting Awful sentences and paragraphs from these things; someone's always turgid and breathing heavily down someone else's neck. They also say things like "whilst" and "smelling salts" rather a lot, I'm afraid.
*** A Very Short Romance Novel ***
Another monotonous day at work was in the offing, but L took little notice of the gloomily morose countenances that surrounded her, as billowy gray clouds will sometimes surround the sparkling sun in merry spring. She was stepping daintily about in her silken blue suit and heaving bosom whilst arranging the blushing pink roses that graced her cubicle and plucking sweet strains from a golden lyre. And what darkly handsome suitor was there to listen? No one. No one but the Evil and villainously turgid programmer, who had, for quite some time, had designs on the stunningly gorgeous brunette, whose hair glinted red, then gold, then red again under the soothing flourescent lighting.
But L was petulant. "J'en suis au regret" she said, then frowned daintily, for she really didn't know a single word of French. "Please bring me my smelling salts", the tempestuous beauty ordered, hoping beyond hope that the Evil programmer would return to his sumptuously dank and dreary basement, from which he had flown like a darkly wing'ed night creature with horn-rimmed glasses.
For L, once a common waif and now a passionate tigress of countless databases, was suffering from an unrequited and fiery hunger for strawberries, cheese-- and the wickedly handsome and barbaric Duke, whose masterfully bold claim of ownership and feverishly turgid manliness were nowhere to be seen on the 6th floor. She had found herself desiring this tawny-maned Adonis with a hunger beyond her understanding, for hers was a fever that fed upon itself, carrying her irrevocably toward a final surrender to the power of undeniable love, a joint checking account, 1.8 children and a small terrier.
The elevator door slid silently open, as the throbbing manhood of barbarian Dukeness stepped out to greet the charming young princess of I.T.
"Hello. Can you look at this stored procedure for me?", he whispered tantalizingly, breathing heavily down her daintily scented neck.
"Certainly", breathed L, who then accidentally walked into a wall.
*** The End ***
However, due to the intoxicating effects of my new asthma drug, I did decide to go trotting around the especially smelly "Sunshine Thrift" store near my apartment. I think that eau d'Sunshine (a weird combination of rancid butter and body odor) is still wafting about my charming young person...
I managed to hold my breath long enough to purchase some cheap wooden boxes on which to paint (yes, I've been procrastinating for the upcoming erotic art show)-- as well as peruse the somewhat alarming and amusingly terrible romance novel section. I'm sadly addicted to collecting Awful sentences and paragraphs from these things; someone's always turgid and breathing heavily down someone else's neck. They also say things like "whilst" and "smelling salts" rather a lot, I'm afraid.
*** A Very Short Romance Novel ***
Another monotonous day at work was in the offing, but L took little notice of the gloomily morose countenances that surrounded her, as billowy gray clouds will sometimes surround the sparkling sun in merry spring. She was stepping daintily about in her silken blue suit and heaving bosom whilst arranging the blushing pink roses that graced her cubicle and plucking sweet strains from a golden lyre. And what darkly handsome suitor was there to listen? No one. No one but the Evil and villainously turgid programmer, who had, for quite some time, had designs on the stunningly gorgeous brunette, whose hair glinted red, then gold, then red again under the soothing flourescent lighting.
But L was petulant. "J'en suis au regret" she said, then frowned daintily, for she really didn't know a single word of French. "Please bring me my smelling salts", the tempestuous beauty ordered, hoping beyond hope that the Evil programmer would return to his sumptuously dank and dreary basement, from which he had flown like a darkly wing'ed night creature with horn-rimmed glasses.
For L, once a common waif and now a passionate tigress of countless databases, was suffering from an unrequited and fiery hunger for strawberries, cheese-- and the wickedly handsome and barbaric Duke, whose masterfully bold claim of ownership and feverishly turgid manliness were nowhere to be seen on the 6th floor. She had found herself desiring this tawny-maned Adonis with a hunger beyond her understanding, for hers was a fever that fed upon itself, carrying her irrevocably toward a final surrender to the power of undeniable love, a joint checking account, 1.8 children and a small terrier.
The elevator door slid silently open, as the throbbing manhood of barbarian Dukeness stepped out to greet the charming young princess of I.T.
"Hello. Can you look at this stored procedure for me?", he whispered tantalizingly, breathing heavily down her daintily scented neck.
"Certainly", breathed L, who then accidentally walked into a wall.
*** The End ***
posted by L at 9:33 PM
7 Comments:
L_
Yikes! You seem to be having more fun at work than I do -- and I didn't think that was possible. Your story made ME walk into a wall -- a turgid, throbbing wall.
Thank you for the link. No one has ever linked to me before, so I was a virgin. I'll try to be worthy, and I'll never forget you...
Delicious. :-)
I'd never forget you, either, good ole what'syername! Oh, and I finally got it, you're THAT L! Say no more.
i hate sunshine thrift -- it smells like old woman pee. but they always have old video games in that junky old glass case.
thank you, btw, for 84, charing cross road. it's delightful.
I'll never forget you either, Ron-- you saved me from the killer rat!
glad you liked 84 Charing Cross Road, Frog Princess. I've always thought it was a scream. I've bought it about four times, since I keep lending it out to people who move away to cool places, like Seattle or New York.
I read 84 Charing Cross Road a year or so back. It was so wonderful that I wanted Helene Hanff to adopt me!
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