She’s an Ass, I’m an Ass (WP Prompt)

woman with arms out

Today’s writing prompt from the Daily Post at WordPress:

Why, Thank You?

What’s the best (or rather, worst) backhanded compliment you’ve ever received? If you can’t think of any — when’s the last time someone paid you a compliment you didn’t actually deserve.

My mother and sister have what would be called a slim body type.   I, on the other hand, have hips that I’ve inherited from long line of sturdy women.  Even when I’m trim and in shape, my hips make me appear a little heavier that I really am.  When I put on a few pounds, I always look a lot heavier than I really am.

When my sister and I were growing up, she could always wear the latest, most popular style of jeans.  I, on the other hand, always had a struggle because if a pair of jeans fit my hips, they were far too big for my waist.  It was a real challenge for me to find clothes that fit right, which did nothing but make me think I was fat.  The equation in my head was that if I was fat and couldn’t wear cool clothes, then I couldn’t be cool. With their arrogant sense of thinness, my sister and mother didn’t help matters at all.  Now when I look at old photos of me when I was younger, I can hardly believe that I thought I was overweight.  If my younger self could have seen me now, she would have known what overweight really looks like!

A few years ago, I had been very ill and lost so much weight that I looked far too thin.  The upside was that when I started to get back on my feet, I looked slimmer than I ever had before.  I really enjoyed my new look.

When I finally felt well enough to travel, I took a trip to visit my sister.  I was having a wonderful time and couldn’t help but feel good that I was trim like my sister and could wear skinny jeans too.

My sister and I were sitting in her livingroom one day during my trip and we were discussing my weight loss.  She looked at me, sizing me up.  She said, “I have some jeans you might like that you can have.  With all the pounds you’ve lost, I’m sure they’ll fit.”  She went to her clothes closet and returned with three pair of jeans that looked brand new.  I said, “These are in good shape, are you sure you want to give them away?”  She replied, “Oh, they don’t fit anymore.  I wore them when I was pregnant.”

Really?  She’s such an ass.

Here’s another ass story.

A couple of years ago my uncle gave me a call and thanked me for putting flowers on my grandmother’s grave on her birthday.  He told me, “You’re always so thoughtful about those kind of things.”  The truth was that I hadn’t been the person who had been so thoughtful.  However, when he thanked and complimented me, I didn’t tell him that I wasn’t the one that left the flowers, that actually it must have been one of my cousins who had.  I simply glossed over the compliment by saying, ” I sure miss grandma.”

I’m such an ass.



Darn, I wish I’d said that! (WP Prompt)

Rich woman wearing fur

Today’s writing prompt from the Daily Post at WordPress:

Discussion Enders

We’ve all had exchanges where we came up with the perfect reply — ten minutes too late. Write down one of those, but this time, make sure to sign off with your grand slam (unused) zinger.

(Ladies, this one is for you.  Gents, you might like it too.)

The other day at my dentist’s office I crossed paths with an acquaintance from high school.  (For discussion’s sake, let’s calI her Babsie).   I wasn’t really very thrilled to see Babsie.  She’s notorious for letting people know how financially successful she and her husband are.  She’s in the habit of making thinly veiled comments that scream, “Look at me! Look at all the expensive stuff I have!  I sure am special; don’t you agree”?  Seriously, just ask anybody who knows her.

Now, a little background on Babsie.  In high school, Babsie always had a lot of nice, new stuff.  She would get to have lavish birthday parties and was given new sports car right before she turned sixteen.  Her dad worked for an international aerospace company where he was on a fast track to moving from a middle-management position to upper management.  In contrast, nearly all the students at my high school were children of blue-collar workers.  In those days, the only way a blue-collar worker could afford to give his family a little extra was to work a lot of overtime, if the work was even there to be had.  Suffice to say, Babsie developed her taste for expensive things, as well as her vanity and sense of entitlement, at a very early age.

As I stood in the dentist’s office listening to Babsie blab on about her wonderful life, her world travels and all of her expensive stuff, I couldn’t help but notice how ostentatious she was.  Her fingers were decorated with glittering rings.  She sported a pricey hairstyle and wore a beautiful snow-white Versace blouse.  She was a living, breathing  stereotype.  I could barely stand watching her puffy, augmented lips move as she spoke. I envisioned myself grabbing the black permanent marker I had in my handbag and drawing a Kilroy on the back of her blouse.

Babsie made an insincere attempt to listen to what was happening in my life.  I didn’t care about the insincerity because I really just wanted to get going before I drooled out of corner of my numb mouth.  As we were saying our goodbyes, she reached into her handbag and retrieved a business card.  She handed me the card and said, “Here honey, this is my stylist.  Give her a call, she works wonders.  Tell her you know me and she’ll take 10% off her fee.  I know you’ll appreciate the discount”.

What!  She did not say that, did she?  My mouth hit the floor.

I had to leave before I tore out her extensions.

She then said, “Goodbye darling, how wonderful to see you”.  I managed a crooked smile in spite of the numbness in my face.  “Goodbye Babsie, good to see you too,” I replied through gritted teeth.

I felt like I needed a shower to rinse the gooey arrogance off after the Babsie encounter.   I was so dumbfounded by her ability to  spin an insult that I was without words.  I was pissed that I took her verbal punches and never even got a single one in myself.   While driving back home, my head began to clear.  All of a sudden I came up with the perfect comeback to Babsie’s rude comments.  As we were parting ways, I would have liked to have said:

“Well, you look great Babsie.  Glad we had a chance to visit.  Oh, by the way, I see you’re still able to wear the same make-up that you did in high school.  So which drugstore do you buy it at?”

Okay, on the surface that doesn’t seem like much of a zinger.  But to insinuate that she would buy her make-up at a drugstore would send Babsie’s head spinning in cicles.  I would have really enjoyed that!  Oh well, I guess it’s true what they say, timing is everything.

Robot, on your knees! (WP Prompt)

Robby the Robot and Anne Francis in 'Forbidden Planet'
Robby the Robot and Anne Francis in ‘Forbidden Planet’


Today’s writing prompt from the Daily Post at WordPress:

You, Robot

Congrats — you’ve been handed a robot whose sole job is to relieve you of one chore, job, or responsibility you particularly hate. What is it?

Robot, you are now in charge of cleaning my house. You will wash all the the windows, inside and out, not missing a single doggy nose print.  You’ll dust, not leaving a speck on my five hundred piece glass bird collection. You will vacuum the carpets and steam clean regularly, paying special attention to the beer stains. You’ll need to get the porcelain sparkling and the grout de-mildewed. Of course, the walls will need a periodic washing to keep the graffiti under control.  When it comes to cleaning floors, mops and Swiffers are off limits.  Be ready to get on your knees and scrub, scrub, scrub! Be sure to get all the hairspray, mousse and hair gel off the bathoom floor- teenagers, you know.  And pay special attention to the area right in front of the toilet; no matter how old they are, the boys still can’t seem to hit the mark.

Dōmo arigatō, Mr. Roboto!