Monday, July 11, 2011

Writing Exercises in Real Life

"Is there coffee?" my husband asked.
"No, sorry, I forgot to set it yesterday," I replied.
"So, is the coffee in there and you just didn't turn it on?" he asked.
"I didn't set it. So no. There's no coffee in there, dumbass." I snarked.
"I'm not a dumbass, you jerk." He made a nasty face at me. "Setting it, and turning it on are two different things."

"Is there coffee?" My husband blinked in the sudden light of the kitchen and waved a hand in the general direction of our coffee maker.
"Of course, sir." Martha, our devoted housekeeper of many years handed him a steaming cup of fresh roasted brew.
"Did you sleep well, my love?" I stretched out of Warrior II pose and into Triangle Pose.
My husband walked over and kissed the top of my head. "Of course, darling. You are a heavy sleeper who absolutely does not snore. You?"
I smiled up at him and held his gaze. "Of course. You don't snore either, and you absolutely do not sleep with a sharp, bent elbow in my face."
"Excuse me, Madame." Our nanny's familiar voice crackled over the intercom from the Nursery Wing of the mansion. "Your son is awake. Shall I give him his morning apple juice, freshly pressed from apples picked out of your family orchard in your luscious, twenty-acre backyard?"
"Yes, Gertrude. Thank you." I slid easily into Plank Pose and my arms did not wobble even a little bit.

"Uhhhhhhhhh. UUUUUHHHHHH!" whined my son.
"What? What is it you want?" I tried not to snap at him.
"Want vitamin."
"No," I snapped anyway. "You had one this morning. You only get one per day or you'll die of a toxic vitamin overdose."
He threw his toy across the room. "WANT! VITAMIN! NOW!!!"
"That's it," I said. I grabbed his elbow and dragged him to his room. "Time out for whining and for throwing and for yelling at Mommy." I slammed the door shut, but it failed to drown out his screams of rage.

The closing credits to "Star Wars" rolled onto the screen. Next to me my son, who had been silent and still all through the movie, sighed with contentment. He leaned into me. "I love you, Mommy."
I put an arm around him and kissed his forehead. "I love you too, Juban Princeling."
"Can we watch the next one now? 'Empire Strikes Back?'"
A giggle bubbled up from my soul. My arm tightened around him just a little bit. "Of course!"
He stayed quiet and still all through that one, too. After the movie he asked, "Can we have Mommy-Princeling Star Wars Day again tomorrow?"
I tickled him a little bit. "Whatever you want, my sweetheart."

"Blah blah blah mayor stuff blah blah blah," said New York City Mayor Mike Bloomberg.

"Meredith, I honestly don't know how this city ever survived without you." Mayor Bloomberg shook his head in disbelief as he wrote me a check for a million dollars.

"My job is killing me," one of my Hottie friends said.
"Mine too. Been working late, plus my dog is sick," said another one.
"My kid won't sleep," said a third Hottie.
"My husband is being a jerk," said another one.
"My mother-in-law treats us like garbage," said yet another.

"I'm glad we finally did this." I stretched out on the plush lounge chair. Behind me one of the DJCs - Derek Jeter Clones - fanned me gently with a giant palm frond. A second DJC gave me an expert foot massage, making the money I spent to send him to massage therapy school worth every penny.
"Oh yes, me too." One of my Hottie sisters lifted a frozen margarita off a tray proffered by a bartender DJC. "Cheers!"
"L'chaim!" I said, lifting my own frozen margarita because I was not pregnant and could drink alcohol.
A cool ocean breeze blew across our private Hottie Caribbean island.
"Pink, or red?" A third Hottie sister asked no one in particular as one of her own DJCs filed her nails.
"Red!" All seven of us laughed in unison.
"I hope our husbands are doing all right back home." Hottie Beatrix Potter dug into her calorie- and fat-free, yet still delicious, hot fudge brownie sundae, which was designed by a specialty DJC chef to not aggravate her migraines.
"I'm sure they're fine," another Hottie said.
"Can we stay on Hottie Island forever?" I asked.
"Of course we can!" My soul sisters all laughed. "We have no responsibilities back home! Let's stay here and eat what we want and drink alcohol and enjoy our private island! Now, take off your shirts, DJCs!"
And they did.

"I have an audition tomorrow," my brother told me. "I probably won't get it, and it's for an extras part, but I have to try."

"Hey Sis, I told Jessie J what a huge fan you are, and she invited you to go shopping with her tomorrow." There were many perks of my brother's job as head writer and featured player on Saturday Night Live. Getting to hang out with my favorite celebrities was just one of them. "And by the way," he added, picking up the check for lunch at Le Cirque. "Thank you so much for suggesting all those jokes and funny stories. I used them in my stand-up act the other night and they killed. They absolutely killed! And please, keep them coming. I am not at all annoyed when people suggest funny things I should include in my high-paying professional comedy career, especially when you text message it to me out of context and I have no idea what you're talking about and your text is full of typos and weird auto-corrects so that it reads like you let your 2-year old mash the keypad before you hit 'Send.' That is not annoying AT ALL."

I smiled. "I do what I can to help those I love."


David M. Brown said...

Thanks for making me laugh out loud!

monica said...

BAHHAHAHA! :) love!

jodi said...

BWWWWAAHAAHAHAHHAA. Just reading this now. <3 you!