Tagged: clothes

Chauncey Knew

  • by jena great deal of reviewing
  • He got down with raised eyebrows.
  • she did not respond to him in a favorable way
  • for no special reason
  • proximity to money and power

Chauncey knew the way to win Myrtle’s heart was by winning the dance-off at the senior prom. After a great deal of reviewing how-to videos on YouTube and practicing in front of the mirror, he was ready. Chauncey’s rental tuxedo was a stunning combination of white and gold that some people inexplicably saw as blue and black. At the country club he stood in line with all of the other hopefuls. The music started. He got down with raised eyebrows. Despite his sick dance moves and the soulful expressions he threw at Myrtle, she did not respond to him in a favorable way. Neither did the judges. They awarded the trophy to Mike Phillips for no special reason that Chauncey could see, except for the fact that Mike Phillips’s mother was a senator and the judges were all blinded by his proximity to money and power. But not Myrtle. She left the prom the way she arrived, surrounded by a group of indifferent girls dressed all in black.

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The Captain Cleared His Throat

  • k-avatarThe captain cleared his throat
  • for perhaps a minute
  • rubbed her nose tip
  • cool, hard and prickly
  • And then up.
  • plain khaki shirt and slacks
  • by sonic violence
  • killed in an aircrash

The captain cleared his throat for perhaps a minute. Phoebe shuffled her feet, seeming just about bored enough to create a scene. Hoping to distract her, I reached over and rubbed her nose tip, which was cool, hard and prickly. She smiled. Finally, the captain began his speech, and I along with Phoebe and all the rest learned what real boredom can be. At last, he bade us all take our seats and the vehicle sped down the runway. And then up. The plane climbed like a firework, mashing me back in my seat and flattening Phoebe’s plumage. Our frightful acceleration didn’t seem to impede the hostess, who looked beguiling even in her uniform of a plain khaki shirt and slacks. Phoebe pecked the back of my head when I swiveled it to observe the hostess’s progress down the aisle. I wondered if perhaps the captain’s lugubrious oration might have contained important information, for the rate of our ascent continued to increase, as did the noise. Conversation was rendered impossible by sonic violence emanating from the engines. Thus I was unable to inquire as to whether, should we break apart somewhere above the atmosphere, people on the ground would still say we’d been killed in an aircrash.

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I Just Returned From Fashion Week

  • by jenthe yellow stain on his trousers
  • Voilá un homme!
  • the old Mediterranean mafia
  • According to my calculations
  • Stirner’s perpetually mocking attitude

I just returned from fashion week, and I’m thrilled to announce the old “Mediterranean mafia” style is passé! According to my calculations (and Beatrix Stirner’s perpetually mocking attitude), the trendiest look for winter is, quelle surprise, nudity! Before your scandalized boyfriend has to explain the yellow stain on his trousers, allow me to clarify. The most stylish women in New York, Paris, and Milan will all be wearing skin-tight jumpsuits with exaggerated male genitalia protruding from the front. It’s a look that veritably screams “Voilá un homme!” in the chicest possible way.

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It Was a One-Way Window

  • k-avatar“Squint your eyes
  • but he’s a whizdang now!
  • noise made down here
  • It was a one-way window
  • felt a minor isolated quiver
  • A tourist in Glasgow!
  • They call me Smith
  • should keep it sharpened

It was a one-way window with a no-way view, because of all the green smoke in the interrogation room. Harold wondered if this was normal Scottish police procedure.

“Squint your eyes and you can just see the point of his hat!” proclaimed Harold’s new partner, Seamus MacCallahan. “Lafferty used to be a siphontopper, but he’s a whizdang now! Aye!”

Harold didn’t bother squinting, because he still remembered Lafferty’s tall, blue wizard’s hat, and the matching robes. He thought they should be more concerned with whether the suspect was still in the room, and no amount of squinting was going to help with that.

“They call me Smith,” said a booming, gravelly voice from somewhere in the roiling smoke. Harold felt a minor isolated quiver in his left arm. Something about the Caledonian weather, no doubt. Just this morning he’d been a tourist. A tourist in Glasgow! But now he was a detective inspector in Edinburgh, and he was determined to do his best.

Lafferty didn’t ask any questions. The unseen Smith spoke, his voice like cumulonimbus fender-benders, like no noise made down here on terra firma. “One thing my teacher always told me about my pencil,” Smith droned, “I should keep it sharpened.”

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The Host of My Favorite Music Podcast

  • by jenentirely the wrong kind of inflection
  • turned into wobbly rubber
  • delicately touched the sleeve
  • because of technical embargoes
  • liquor and the jellies
  • with ice in his voice
  • only to force cursing
  • Caesar, the Decembrists, Prince Charlie, Xerxes

The host of my favorite music podcast made the announcement with ice in his voice, and entirely the wrong kind of inflection. Big Jim Caesar, the Decembrists, Prince Charlie, Xerxes and Lolita, and KGI would all be playing Bonnaroo this year, but because of technical embargoes, Liquor and the Jellies (my favorite band), would not. The news seemed designed only to force cursing from me, and I complied, letting loose a stream of profanity that did not stop until my neighbor pounded on the wall. My stomach turned to wobbly rubber when I remembered how much I’d paid for my ticket on Craigslist. I delicately touched the sleeve of my kimono to my cheek to blot my tears of disappointment and fury while inwardly I vowed vengeance against the president’s new War on Synthesizers.

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Cotton Umbrellas, and Useful Knowledge

  • cotton umbrellas, and useful knowledge
  • throw other people’s lives into disarray
  • Whenever she wore pants
  • Should it ever leave the ground
  • scattering in all directions

Jen’s Take

by jenFor years Lolita’s sartorial choices were the talk of the internet. Whenever she wore pants instead of a short skirt it would throw other people’s lives into disarray. Fashion bloggers never knew quite what to say, their clever words scattering in all directions like so many cotton umbrellas, and useful knowledge of how the masses could emulate Lovely Lolita’s style never appeared. Lolita dreamed of turning all of her cast-off clothing into a giant hot air balloon. Should it ever leave the ground, she thought she would enjoy looking down on all those who had previously looked down on her.

Kent’s Take

k-avatarHer imagination was like a giant, colorful balloon filled with fish and sneakers and harmonicas. Should it ever leave the ground, the townsfolk would be flabbergasted by cotton umbrellas, and useful knowledge, scattering in all directions.

Her balloon would always throw other people’s lives into disarray. They couldn’t reconcile her chaotic visions with their own preference for beige humdrummery. To see the creative faculties of her mind soaring over the trees made their earwax buzz.

Whenever she wore pants, her balloon sailed in figure-eights. Whenever she wore shoes, two tiny banjos were elected to parliament.

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To The Flock Of Gentle Churchgoers

  • by jenher sundress was a mass of wrinkles
  • inherited my family’s trime-traveling gene
  • ripping my trousers, cutting my leg
  • She spread out all her fingers
  • “The hunchback must be mad too,” said the Curate.

To the flock of gentle churchgoers it must have seemed that Germaine and I appeared out of nowhere. There they were, listening to a sermon, when suddenly there we were, fornicating on the floor in front of the altar. It’s all on account of the fact that I inherited my family’s time-traveling gene. When we started, you see, the church had yet to be built.

As soon as we realized we had an audience, we stopped what we were doing. Germaine tried to cover herself, but her sundress was a mass of wrinkles. She spread out all her fingers to cover her naughty bits as best she could, ripping my trousers, cutting my leg in the process. The position we were trying out was called The Hunchback and it was rather complicated.

“I’m so mad at this interruption, Rufus!” cried Germaine.

“The Hunchback must be mad too,” said the Curate. He winked at us.

Who told him what it was called?

 

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Everything About Felicity Was All Brown

  • by jenrolled her beautiful eyes
  • like some patient livery cob
  • suddenly declared unlawful
  • no other password
  • the beautiful dog’s friendly attention
  • as plainly as the geese
  • causing an obstruction in the shaft
  • interposed his elegantly marked body
  • in the crepuscular twilight
  • WOW! Is she dragging!
  • such petty jealousies
  • all brown, brown eyes, brown hair

Everything about Felicity was all brown, brown eyes, brown hair, brown tobacco-stained teeth. She wore a brown velour jumpsuit and brown leather boots. Erasmus thought she dressed that way to hide her beauty from the eyes of men, to prevent such petty jealousies as she must have experienced in school when she no doubt turned the heads of her friends’ swains. It was for very similar reasons that Erasmus had covered his body with detailed black tattoos. Such subterfuge did not fool Erasmus, who saw her sensual attractiveness as plainly as the geese flying overhead and honking in the crepuscular twilight saw the small pond in the woods as their pit stop for the night.

“Why must those horrid sentries be causing an obstruction in the shaft?” wailed Felicity.

WOW! Is she dragging! thought Erasmus. Felicity was usually stoic in the face of such disappointment. She must be completely exhausted to break down like that. They knew when they signed up for the Amazing Race that there would be frustrations, but nothing had prepared them for this task, in which they were required to navigate their way through a disused emerald mine in Myanmar. Much to their chagrin, the team had just found themselves back at the entrance and had gone outside for some fresh air and to pet the large black dog that was chained there.

“Are you certain you know no other password?” Erasmus asked.

Felicity rolled her beautiful eyes like some patient livery cob who had lost all patience upon learning that horses had been suddenly declared unlawful.

“If I knew another password,” she grumbled, “don’t you think I would have mentioned it?”

Her despair drew the beautiful dog’s friendly attention, and it demanded to be petted. Erasmus felt a flair of jealousy and interposed his elegantly marked body between Felicity and the animal.

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Underneath the Fancy Bustle

  • by jensmooth as a sunset
  • too young to produce
  • her naked bottom was small
  • It was a truck-driver bang
  • president of Midnight Mink
  • clench her fists and stomp her feet

Underneath the fancy bustle, her naked bottom was small. Her inability to afford surgery to augment it drove Shirley to clench her fists and stomp her feet in frustration. She was too young to produce movies, which was her life’s ambition, and this led to more frustration.

“Why did I ever move to Hollywood?” she wailed.

Shirley’s moment of self-doubt was interrupted by a loud knock at her door. It was a truck-driver bang, she thought, but when she opened the door she found not a truck driver, but the President of Midnight, Mink McGee, with his pale, pale skin and his auburn hair as smooth as a sunset. The look in his deep blue eyes told Shirley that Mink did not find her naked bottom too small.

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Turning Her Lips

  • by jenstill damp from the bath
  • turning her lips
  • I know he is alive
  • you do have a lovely arse
  • made use of vibrational lore
  • revel in the soft skin of the breasts

Turning her lips from a smile to a grimace, Reggie made use of vibrational lore handed down to her from her grandmother to confuse the mind of her supervisor so that she could slip out of work early Friday afternoon.

At home later, her hair still damp from the bath, Reggie turned on Maury in time to see a woman declare, “I know he is alive!”

I guess she’s talking about her baby-daddy, Reggie thought.

In the kitchen she opened the refrigerator to find an early dinner. The only thing that looked appetizing was the leftover fried chicken. She took a moment to mentally revel in the soft skin of the breasts before nuking them.

After eating, Reggie shimmied into her slinky black dress and checked her appearance in the mirror before heading out to the local pub.

“You do have a lovely arse!” she told herself happily.

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