Sunday Scribblings: Invitation
I wrote this earlier this month and it kinda got lost in the shuffle. But it fits the Sunday Scribblings theme so well, I thought I'd give it some more exposure.
Invitations
“You’re not the man I though you were,” she cried through an expensive silk hanky.
“Excuse me?”
“That’s it, I just can’t take it anymore.”
The train has lurched to a stop. She bends forward, offers me a view of her cleavage and brings her manicured hand across my face, welling tears in my eyes.
She exits the train and for the next two stops, I feel the heat of the the passengers' perturbed stare on my back, the prickly sting of my red-raked cheek.
My walk to the office is consumed with nervous confusion. I get to my desk, finger the breast pocket of my dress shirt. Again.
I pull out the business card, creamy ivory cardstock, embossed with a single telephone number.
On the back, written in a tight, perfect script is one word…
Dinner?
Invitations
“You’re not the man I though you were,” she cried through an expensive silk hanky.
“Excuse me?”
“That’s it, I just can’t take it anymore.”
The train has lurched to a stop. She bends forward, offers me a view of her cleavage and brings her manicured hand across my face, welling tears in my eyes.
She exits the train and for the next two stops, I feel the heat of the the passengers' perturbed stare on my back, the prickly sting of my red-raked cheek.
My walk to the office is consumed with nervous confusion. I get to my desk, finger the breast pocket of my dress shirt. Again.
I pull out the business card, creamy ivory cardstock, embossed with a single telephone number.
On the back, written in a tight, perfect script is one word…
Dinner?
Comments
Okay Thom, Spill the beans!!
You really know how to turn a phrase. Well done, Thom.