Reasons for Flowers

Express sympathy.
Express love.
Easier to carry than cactus.
They smell good compared to your family.
They never talk back.
Help mom and pop floral business.
To put on graves of those you miss or those you couldn't stand.
If flowers go un-picked our environment is threatened.
If we do not buy flowers the terrorists win.
To decorate one's home and give the impression you are sensitive.
The Rose Bowl Parade floats would look silly without flowers.

In a Dream

A very strong woman is carrying me inside. I am bleeding from multiple wounds after having defended her against an attack from hooligans. She considers me a hero.
She lays me on the couch. I hate bleeding on her furniture. Perhaps you should call an ambulance, I suggest. She shakes her head. I can heal you, my savior.
She goes into the bedroom and returns wearing a black caftan. She begins chanting something I do not understand and dancing around the couch. She sprinkles me with some foreign substance that makes me sneeze.
Amazingly, the bleeding stops, as does the pain.
But then one of my feet falls off.
I point to my foot lying on the floor. She shrugs and says, hey, it's only a hobby.

Hold My Beer

My friend Death told me to hold his beer. You do what Death tells you to do. He shifted to the next stool. A woman sat alone sipping her brew.
Death has game. He can charm the whiskers off a walrus. I can hear everything. She is explaining her situation. A bad breakup. He is buying her hard liquor, going to work on her. Death is a good listener, nodding at just the right time.
Death's beer is getting warm in my hand. Fifteen minutes have passed. Their conversation has become animated. She is giggling. I know how this will end. Her name is Lauren. She says something about being expected at her writing group.
Death stands and motions for her to precede him out. She will not be attending any meetings tonight or any other night.
I left his beer on the bar and walked home.

The Next Teardrop

I will be there to dry all your tears. But I need $20. What?? I just made a beautiful promise and you give me grief. You're always crying, Cynthia. You cry watching The Bachelor, when people are eliminated from the Amazing Race, Survivor, Dancing with the Stars, The Voice and America's Got Talent.
You wake up and go to sleep sobbing. I have hemorrhoids. Do you hear me crying?
Your teardrops could water a garden if we had a garden and now you cry because we have none. Haven't I offered support? So because I'm a little short and want to meet the guys at a bar you act like I'm not a giving person. I'm giving you my hankie to mop up those tears.
I never signed up for this. You were so peppy before we got hitched. What happened? What do you mean I never take you anywhere? I take you everywhere. Come to the bar with me. Sing, dance, drink. Laugh.
But I still need that $20. Don't blow your nose in my handkerchief! I keep my hemorrhoid pills in there.

Pigmy Love Queen

I fall in love easily. On one of my research trips, I fell hard for a pygmy tribal queen. I hate using that word pygmy. I prefer my pocket love buzzer.
Her boyfriend, a Prince, did not like what was happening right in front of him. He challenged me to a poison dart tossing competition. The queen's warriors were loyal and prevented any such thing while the Prince seethed.
We all went skinny dipping one day. I made the mistake of eyeing some of the other women. She caught me and became furious. Next thing I know, I'm tied to a pole while hot cheese is applied to my sensitive areas. I screamed--they chanted and danced.
I could not understand how they got Limburger and Mozzarella into the heart of Africa. I was eventually released and banished from the tribe. James Cameron bought the rights to my story. Leo will play me. Linda Hunt auditioned for the pygmy queen. I'm thinking, too old, too white. But in Hollywood they work around that.

The Words

I have a mouthful of veggie burger when Benicio asks my opinion of Heigel's Fifth Law of Physics. We are having our monthly High End Intellectual Discourse group at a high end diner. I almost choke trying to reply. He shakes his head. I'm trying to impress Paula, an Impressionist with 14 exhibits on her resume.
She expounds on that subject while I try to get a word in edgewise. I know nothing about painting, but intellectuals mask their ignorance with superb vocabulary. At some point a piece of dill pickle I'm chewing flies out and lands in Paula's hair.
Everyone sees it. God, can this get any worse?
Just then, a group of drunken writers from the library enter and begin getting obnoxious. Maybe if I stood up to them Paula would forgive me. I pick a tiny woman poet I know vaguely and get in her face. She knees me in the groin. I collapse.
I don't even like dill pickles.

Igloo

Mr. and Mrs. Warner, look at this face Is this a face that would lie to you?
You will never find an igloo of this quality anywhere else. Certainly not with a 3.6%  30 year fixed. Storage space? You can fit an elephant in this hole in the ground centered perfectly. Dirt is full of nutrients. Look at this terrace. An igloo with a terrace. I choke up just saying that.
Okay, no windows, but who needs windows? The architect, Olaf Gunnaffson from Iceland, a genius, has provided space heaters to heat everything. We have technology, too complex to explain, that keeps you cool in the summer. Maybe half a wall might melt. Easily fixed.
Ever see counter tops that pretty? And in the morning you can rub your naked body up against a wall of ice. Talk about starting the day off right.
I've got four other couples waiting to see this beauty. Rugs? Absolutely not. You cannot blaspheme the concept with raggedy rugs. Well, excuuuse me. Now I'm thinking maybe you're not the adventurous folks I thought you were.
Fine. We are done here. And put back those ice cubes where you found them.