Robyn Hood

Trifextra Week Sixty-Four

This weekend we're asking for exactly 33 of your own words plus the following three words:

• charge
• century
• lost

So 33 of yours plus 3 of ours means that everyone will have a 36 word response this time around.

Three extra words this week?  Huzzah!

“ You've lost your damn mind.  They’re calling this ‘the crime of the century’!”

Suzanne shrugged.  “I don’t care.  Let them charge me.  I helped those kids and I have no regrets.  I wouldn't change a thing.”

Great expectations

Trifecta:  Week Seventy-three

color (noun)
1a : a phenomenon of light (as red, brown, pink, or gray) or visual perception that enables one to differentiate otherwise identical objects
  b (1) : the aspect of the appearance of objects and light sources that may be described in terms of hue, lightness, and saturation for objects and hue, brightness, and saturation for light sources

     (2) : a color other than and as contrasted with black, white, or gray
2a : an outward often deceptive show : appearance
  b : a legal claim to or appearance of a right, authority, or office
  c : a pretense offered as justification : pretext
  d : an appearance of authenticity : plausibility
3: complexion tint:

  a : the tint characteristic of good health

  b : blush

I don’t think my feet touched the floor that entire day.  I know I didn't actually levitate, but it would have taken a lot to convince me that I was actually earthbound, because I felt like I was floating.  There was a smile plastered on my face you couldn't have scraped off with a hammer and a chisel.  It felt like my insides were going to just burst through my abdomen from the excitement and anticipation.

I knew I had to do something special for him, so I drove to the store and bought all of the ingredients for his favorite meal.  Cooking would keep me busy; cooking would keep me focused and stop me from bouncing around the house like a rubber ball on speed.  He’d be home at 5:30.  I just had to hold on until then.

Hours felt like aeons as I chopped and sauteed and boiled and baked.  It was a veritable feast, and a total departure from my cooking habits of late.  Surely, a meal like this would give my secret away before I was ready.  But it was too late to stop now.  I knew he would be thrilled to see a cheesecake chilling in the refrigerator.  And the smell of chicken wafting through the house was divine; it would grab him the moment he walked through the door.

Finally, I heard the front door open.  He came into the kitchen, and I turned to greet him.  I probably looked like a madwoman--hair wild and curly from the steam, face flushed, color in my cheeks from the heat and my excitement, a Mona Lisa smile on my face and tears in my eyes.

Before I ever said a word, he knew.  “Yes?” he asked.  “Yes,” I whispered, tears now rolling freely down my cheeks.  

Crossing fingers

Trifextra:  Week Sixty-three

This weekend we're asking for exactly 33 of your own words inspired by the following quote from the book you could win in the WBN giveaway. Good luck!

“It's the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.” ― Paulo Coelho, Alchemist

Anxiety overflowing.
Fingers drum nervously.
Good news or bad news?

Afraid to hope.
Desperate to dream,
To plan, to believe.

Enter the doctor.
The future begins to clear.
Finally the words…

 “Cancer free”.

For Sam

Trifextra:  Week 62:  We want you to give us thirty-three words of advice.  Your advice can be to anyone or about anything.  We only ask that you make it uniquely yours.  

Love your differences; embrace that which sets you apart from the rest.  Stay true to yourself and don't ever give up the things you love because they’re not “cool”.

Love yourself.  Be awesome.

This is for my nine-year old son, Sam.  Sam was diagnosed with ADHD when he was in kindergarten and the past five years have been challenging, not just for him, but for his teachers, my husband and me.  I know he's the "weird" kid in his class, but what sets him apart is also what makes him amazing.  He is brilliant (No, seriously, he tested at the "brilliant" level.  Okay, I made that up, but he tests very high--in third grade he tested at an eleventh grade reading level.) and creative and imaginative and while his energy can make him absolutely exhausting to deal with, I wouldn't change anything about him.  He writes stories that are smart and funny and intriguing, each illustrated with beautifully detailed drawings.  Sam is going to do incredible things someday.  We just need to get him through the oh-so-fun school years first.  Once he gets through the torturous years of school where anything that makes you different also makes you a pariah, he is going to blossom into something so spectacular the world won't know what hit it.

/end mushy mommy moment.

Someone please pass me a tissue.  My uh, allergies, are acting up.  *sniffle*

Payback

For this week's Trifecta challenge...

rain (transitive verb)
3: to take a lot of money in bill form and toss it up in the air. This is most effectively done at a strip club for the effect of raining one dollar bills on the dancers (and it makes them feel so pretty), or to snub a hater by throwing money into their face that then falls to the floor like rain (use this when paying a debt to a punk bitch who keeps asking for their money to the point that they are ruining your friendship or when dumping someone who has been bankrolling you for a while now that you're making money).

The phone kept ringing.  Day after day, she was tired of it being her alarm clock, waking her to remind her failure, telling her what a loser she was.  She didn't buy the car with the intention of not paying for it.  She had a good job, a comfortable apartment, and disposable income for impractical things like shoes that only matched one outfit.  Then everything fell apart.  She found herself jobless; sleepless, worrying day and night how she would pay the bills.  Being unemployed wouldn't allow her to maintain her fabulous lifestyle. Eventually, the bank took the car and she was forced to move back in with her parents.  But still, the phone calls continued.

She took a job doing the most degrading thing she could ever imagine:  counter girl in a fast food restaurant.  The indignity of having to ask, “Would you like fries with that?  Super-mega size it?” was offset by the fact that she was bringing home a steady paycheck.  Over time, she rose from counter girl to shift manager, then to general manager, each ascension bringing with it a small pay raise.  It would never make her rich, but it allowed her to set aside a bit of money every week.

Finally there was enough.  She went to her bank, and withdrew the money. She drove her old clunker to the loan company’s office.  Her purse pulled her shoulder down under the burden of all the money inside.  Requesting an audience with the collection agent who had made her life a living hell, she waited.  Finally, her name was called and she was face to face with her tormentor.  She looked him in the eye, fighting the urge to make it rain in his office when she hurled the money in his face.  Instead, she took a Post-It, wrote down her account number, then slapped the bundle of cash on his desk. She turned and with head held high, walked out without saying a word. 

She was finally free.