August 23, 2023
I’m almost a week late in posting. Our writing group continues to work on short stories for our Potpourri Project. A few members read their current stories. Since it’s been over a month since I last posted anything, I looked back through my notebook for something. I hope you’ll find it humorous.
Last July, we used prompts from The Writer’s Toolbox to write a short story during a meeting. Here are the prompts that I received that made me immediately think about Miss Piggy:
- a completely inappropriate shade of pink
- the man in the striped pajamas
- of the way Herb defrosted the refrigerator
- ripped upholstery
Looking in a mirror, I see she has dressed me in a completely inappropriate shade of pink. Didn’t the dressing room know by now I wouldn’t wear this crap? It made my ears look huge! Kermie would laugh at me and that would be unbearable.
“Gilda, I refuse to wear this garbage. Here, take it away. Toss this in the trash! My gold lamé will have to do.”
“If you don’t take chances,” says the man in the striped pajamas, “you might as well not be alive.”
I whip my head around to glare at him. “Gilda! Why did you let him in here? I want nothing to do with that clown!”
I stamp my hoof. “Moe, you know better than to enter my dressing room. Get out! Go see if Larry is dressed. Last show, he streaked naked across the stage behind me.”
Gilda goes to get ice to calm me down. There isn’t any because of the way Herb defrosted the refrigerator. He had forgotten to plug in the appliance before he went home.
She sticks her head outside the door and screeches. “Curly, quick! Run to the commissary and get her a buck of ice.” She turns back. “Moe, get out of here. I’ve got to get her ready!”
My assistant collapses on the ripped upholstery of my couch. Tears stream and streak her mascara. She sobs. “I’m sorry, so sorry! I should have stayed home. My astrology for today told me it would be bad.”
I kick Moe’s butt as he finally heads to the door. Pulling her into my arms, I say, “Oh, didn’t mean to upset you. Not your fault.” I glance at my Rolex. “Oh dear. We’ll be late. Get my dress out.”