Tagged: clothes

Despite Tessa’s Dire Warning

  • by jenonce he becomes self-aware
  • using taxidermy as a front to smuggle drugs
  • dressed in a Goofy costume
  • I’m afraid that our hunt’s over
  • We all loved him

Tune in next time part 60                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Despite Tessa’s dire warning I found my way to the jail’s exit rather quickly, and stumbled out into the sunrise with some of my fellow former inmates, including a woman dressed in a Goofy costume who had been using taxidermy as a front to smuggle drugs. But Tessa was nowhere to be seen. Either she had remained behind in the holding cell, or she was using her ninja powers of disguise again. She could be anywhere.

I didn’t know where to go. Back to the church where Jason and Uncle Jinx were hiding? To the White House to recruit help from my powerful relatives? In my indecision I lingered in an alleyway. From above me on a fire escape, voices filtered down. Familiar voices.

“We all loved him,” Tessa said, “but he’s just not the same man he once was.”

I knew she was talking about me. I strained to hear the other side of this clandestine conversation.

“Our troubles will only multiply once he becomes self-aware,” was Lyudmila’s reply.

I was very uneasy about those two being aligned in any endeavor, especially one that involved talking about me. My only chance was to find where Tessa had stashed the loot. I stayed still and quiet, listening, until a garbage truck rumbled into the alley.

The sanitation workers were on the move.

A few flakes of rust drifted down from above me, as ninja Tessa sprang from her place of camouflage. She landed on the hood of the garbage truck, brandishing her katana.

Lyudmila appeared suddenly at my side. It seemed that she’d learned a few tricks of stealth from dear old Tessa. The blade at my throat was icy. She drew me backwards out of the alley and around the corner, whispering, “I’m afraid our hunt’s over.”

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A Rope Ladder Swung

  • k-avatarsee his brain whirl
  • “Are you saying I’ve grown fat?”
  • felt as though you were in an ice bath for a millisecond
  • that zipped on the sides
  • in his room, planning his revenge

Tune In Next Time Part 31                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

A rope ladder swung before me, the lowest rung knocking me in the face. The helicopter hovered high over the ship, paying out a very long ladder so it could stay clear of the masts. With great effort I hooked an elbow over one rung and placed my feet on another.

The chopper climbed, pulling me upwards. At the hatchway, I got stuck momentarily until I exhaled. Then I was yanked free and the helicopter sped off, reeling me in gradually as it flew, giving me ample time to wonder who it was that rescued me.

Mitzy. I should have known she’d put in an appearance eventually. She stood in the open doorway of the helicopter wearing sequined overalls that zipped on the sides. As she guided my exhausted body into the compartment she said, “You weren’t stuck for long, but the surprise felt as though you were in an ice bath for a millisecond.”

“Are you saying I’ve grown fat?” I demanded. “There was nothing there but cotton candy — poisoned cotton candy — what was I supposed to do? I’m starving as it is.”

Mitzy’s worst habit, among many irritating tendencies, was speaking about people rather than to them. She said, “Soon he is in his room, planning his revenge. I can see his brain whirl, spinning fantastic torments for his enemies.”

“Mitzy, I just want a shower and a stiff drink, in that order.”

Where was she taking me? What happened to Jorgensen’s crew? Was I too late to protect Tessa from the deepest secrets of the treasure?

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Tessa’s Hiccups Persisted

  • k-avatarthe man with the severed leg
  • just another Tuesday
  • couldn’t actually read the sweatshirt
  • (just “Uncle Terry” being Uncle Terry)
  • partially tattooed on his elbow

Tune In Next Time Part 13                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa’s hiccups persisted as we cruised the darkened back streets of the city. I knew Michiko had enemies, and her unsubtle car might draw unwelcome attention on the boulevards. I was grateful for the narrow lanes I had to guide the huge car through, because the tight quarters demanded my attention, kept me from becoming too distracted by what those hiccups meant.

“Oh, crap,” I muttered.

“The parade,” Tessa said.

Where our tiny side-street debouched onto the main thoroughfare, sawhorses and hay bales blocked our path. I approached the barrier slowly, thinking we might be able to shift things aside and sneak through before the parade began.

And in any other town that might have been reasonable. But the weekly Macabre Misfits parade was in full swing, as it would be for 24 hours. To the double-M, this was just another Tuesday.

There wasn’t room to open the car door, so I rolled down the window and climbed out. Jugglers were passing, throwing mannequin limbs back and forth. I hoped. The man with the severed leg in his hand glanced at me, and although I couldn’t actually read the sweatshirt he wore I did notice a subversive slogan partially tattooed on his elbow.

Tessa had emerged as well, and the man seemed surprised to see her.

“Hi, — hic — Terry. Sorry we’re late,” she said, dropping me a wink. “Think your troupe can sorta — hic — vamp for a while so we can get our — hic — float out of this alleyway?”

The man bowed to us, then rallied the rest of the jugglers to hold a space in the parade while we got the barricade out of the way.

“He — hic — does this every week,” Tessa explained. “My third cousin or something, but he’s older so — hic — I always thought he was my uncle. The — hic — limb-juggling is his passion (just “Uncle Terry” being Uncle Terry). Shall we?”

The parade was even heading in the right direction. But it was so slow.

Tessa’s hiccups persisted.

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Helga Concealed Herself

  1. k-avatarcharacter –bigfoot
  2. setting — dry dock
  3. object –wooden shoes
  4. situation –wet t-shirt contest

Helga concealed herself below the experimental hydrofoil in the dry dock. Stowing away on it in Seattle had been the only way for her to reach Holland undetected, preserving the secrecy of her woodland race. But the next stage in her mission would require that she show herself, in fact the magic tulip bulbs would only be given to the winner of the wet t-shirt contest. And to be allowed into the waterfront dive where the Dutch National Wet Tee Convention would be held, she had to first obtain the traditional footwear. She hoped she could find them in her size.

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I Don’t Know Where You Get Off

  • by jenyour conventional seventy-hour workweek
  • a garbage bag full of assorted sweatpants
  • swinging your hips
  • cooking is a perpetual source of evaporation and dampness
  • plenty of caterers have used them

I don’t know where you get off swinging your hips and wagging your finger at me. So you found a garbage bag full of assorted sweatpants in the kitchen. What of it? Plenty of caterers have used them to sop up spills and wipe brows and underarms. Cooking is a perpetual source of evaporation and dampness, for both the kitchen and those who toil in her steamy belly. Perhaps your conventional seventy-hour workweek leaves you fresh as a daisy, but we caterers suffer in the swamp for our art, the art that fills your bellies.

Did I ever tell you that I once won on Iron Chef?

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As the Butler

  • by jenonly marginally shorter than the average man
  • he hissed
  • came from the heart and not from the lips
  • the butler put my cloak
  • I know you may be skeptical

As the butler put my cloak in the closet he hissed, “I know you may be skeptical, but I am only marginally shorter than the average man,” but the sound came from the heart and not from the lips, for there is no way to truly hiss a phrase with so few sibilant sounds in it.

bonus points for using them all in one sentence!

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Aureliano is Really Quite Masculine

  • by jenalthough his solid chin is clear of any hair
  • with a canine-skin collar
  • “Big Apple” cufflinks
  • dark blue eyes and a beautiful belly
  • overruled by Judge Maurice

Aureliano is really quite masculine, although his solid chin is clear of any hair, his chest as well. He has dark blue eyes, and a beautiful bellybutton rests in the center of his rock-hard abs. Dancing at my bachelorette party with a canine-skin collar around his thick, manly neck, and absolutely nothing else on but Chippendales style faux-cuffs decorated with “Big Apple” cufflinks, he is the very definition of virility.

“What the heck,” I say to myself, “I’m not married yet!”

I throw caution and my clothes to the wind and smile enticingly at Aureliano. He smiles back, but our tryst is overruled by Judge Maurice, which is what Aureliano calls his penis, which refuses to cooperate, if you know what I mean.

I tip him well anyway, to ensure he doesn’t mention this to my fiancé Dirk tomorrow when Aureliano stands beside him as best man at our wedding.

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I Couldn’t Help Laughing at Chet

  • by jenhe was a full-grown man
  • tiny clothes that actually fit
  • drew a revolver from his belt
  • you rang the eskimo
  • here at your request

I couldn’t help laughing at Chet. He was a full-grown man wearing a cowboy costume, tiny clothes that actually fit his adolescent brother better than they did him. Chet drew a revolver from his belt (a toy, I hoped) and aimed it at me. “You rang the eskimo‘s private number, LuAnne. You’re the one who ordered up a gigolo. You’re the one who specifically requested chaps and a stetson. I’m here at your request, and I’ll thank you to stop laughing at me.”

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Mink Jodhpurs?

  • by jenlittle things, like Band-Aids
  • kept the last of my clothes on
  • pissing off PETA
  • something even more sinister
  • ripping my trousers, cutting my leg

“Mink jodhpurs? Twyla! What were you thinking?” cried Octavius as he swung his blade wildly, ripping my trousers, cutting my leg. “Before you know it you’ll be pissing off PETA and they’ll be throwing paint on you, or something even more sinister.”

By then my pants were in ruins on the floor and my legs were bleeding. Before Octavius could destroy it, too, I removed my ermine bolero jacket. I kept the last of my clothes on and watched in fascination as Octavius tended my wounds, spackling my legs with these weird little things, like Band-Aids, only shiny and smelling of opium. Soon enough I didn’t care about my expensive rags anymore. I was ready for my red carpet debut!

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Ofttimes In My Job as a Wedding Planner

  • by jenplays cat and mouse with the yakuza
  • simply wasn’t awesome enough
  • in blissful ignorance of the preparations
  • liked each other sincerely enough that there was little awkwardness
  • one helluva romp

Ofttimes in my job as a wedding planner I am at the beck and call of a very demanding and challenging bride, but none in my experience were worse than Catrinka. Popular culture calls these women “Bridezillas” but I see Catrinka as a different sort of Japanese-inspired trope: the geisha who plays cat and mouse with the yakuza and Daddy’s checkbook.

Nothing could please Catrinka. No matter how spectacular or expensive an item or venue, it simply wasn’t awesome enough for Catrinka. Her groom-to-be, Harold, meanwhile meandered along in blissful ignorance of the preparations. He cared naught for the details of the wedding or reception as long as the bachelor party was, in his words, “one helluva romp.” Catrinka didn’t give a fig what he and his friends got up to with the strippers as long as Harold arrived on time to the wedding wearing the proper color bow tie and socks. The betrothed liked each other sincerely enough that there was little awkwardness in this arrangement. And the checks all cleared, so I suppose I ultimately have nothing to complain about.

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