Sorry for the delay, folks. The last 2 Windows updates have rendered my computer completely useless. But no matter; better late than never.
Today’s six comes from my new project, a collection of short stories about women and their tattoos, whose working title is now “Vodka Chicken Soup for the Tattoed Soul.”
From the chapter: MEGAN’S BLACK ROSE
She hated the green bean casserole the most. As she opened a can of three-for-a-dollar grocery store brand cream of mushroom soup, Megan tried to ignore the smell of the French’s onion straws that invaded her nostrils, polluting the delicious mix of smells from the rest of Thanksgiving dinner – the rising dinner rolls, the brining turkey, the sage-y stuffing. She thought green bean casserole was disgusting, and couldn’t think of why anyone would want to eat it, but for some reason it didn’t smell as bad this year as it had in past years, ever since she and her mother had made a tradition of overtaking the Thanksgiving meal and keeping it just within their immediate family. She figured it was because green bean casserole was her baby brother Nathan’s favorite, and this was the first year that Nathan would be home for Thanksgiving in eight years.
Megan and her mother were the solitary females in a household that was otherwise overrun with testosterone. She’d grown up with three brothers who’d made her childhood a girl’s hell, cracking the chickens’ eggs over her skull behind their parents’ back, melting her Barbie collection into a plastic mass they later called a sculpture, using her loose face powder to create fart clouds.
Stay tuned for more, and be sure to check out all the talented Six Sentence Sunday peeps at www.sixsunday.com!