Friday, September 27, 2013

The Imagination Runs Wild

Perhaps it's not common knowledge around these parts, but Mrs. Hillbilly Mom dabbles in writing. She wields a Pilot Rolling Ball Fine Point every now and then, and has become quite a pecker down in her basement lair.

Hillmomba is virtually teeming with seeds and kernels of inspiration. Unfortunately, fiction is not Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's strong point. So many topics, so little talent. Woe is Mrs. Hillbilly Mom.

Today I walked right into a doozy. But fear of backlash for political incorrectness prevents a full-fledged effort. The gift-wrapped bundle that fell right into my nonexistent lap was this:

I stopped at the gas station chicken store for my 44 oz. Diet Coke. My favorite parking space was available, so I dawdled a bit, gathering exact change for payment, sorting out my odds and ends that needed to be pursed, and choosing the best of my cups for refill. I noticed a car parked one space over from my T-Hoe. It had been there when we pulled in. A lady in the driver's seat was turned backwards, as if looking at a child in the back seat. I thought nothing of it, other than you snooze, you lose, I'm going to be in line before you!

As I walked under the awning over the gas pumps to enter, following a cartoon fume of chicken aroma, a car pulled in and stopped. I noticed, because it's tight quarters there, and I didn't want to be in the way of a 2000-pound vehicle. Again, I hustled in before the driver could beat me.

When I came out with my magical elixir, the driver of the pump car was standing at the rear of that parked car by T-Hoe. That driver was standing outside, car door propped open, talking. She was a long-haired 30-something lady, nothing to write home about if you're the type to write home about women. The gas car driver was a stocky gal with a man-short haircut and sparkly earrings that might have been diamond or Cubic Zirconia. She wore khaki shorts and a T-shirt.

And now, for the amazing dialogue that can't write itself...Long Hair was saying, "I washed it off and now it's under my bed." She smiled and flipped her hair back with one hand.

Short Hair chuckled. "I''ll see you. You be careful." Then she turned and walked back to her car. Didn't get gas or soda or chicken or anything.

Wouldn't you like to know what's under the bed?


Sioux said...

Yes, I would. What do YOU think is under the bed?

Hillbilly Mom said...

The possibilities are limitless. Perhaps I will devote a post to it. Right now.