A Good Wife_Overstayed Its Welcome_Yorick's Return_This Is Me Trying
Catalog Guide:
A Good Wife
CW: Violence, Addiction“We haven’t known him very long.” I poured a martini and sat next to my wife. She looked angry, but that was normal. “Do you really think it would stop her if you said ‘no’?” I flexed my jaw. Of course it should stop her. I’m her father, my opinion should count for something. I took a sip of the harsh liquid and glared at the door. “What makes you think he’s even going to ask?”Stacy rolled her eyes. “Because I know our daughter. Why else would he be taking you to dinner?”I shook my head. “In my day, you’d get to know a person’s family before--”“In your day, you didn’t bo...
Overstayed Its Welcome
Ashley and her father John had gained a lot of weight. It had been 5 years this day, since Ashley's mother had passed. Her mother used to prepare breakfast, lunch, and dinner; she would take care of the entire home and take Ashley to school.Ashley was too young to have learned how to provide healthy energy for her family and John, her father, was always exhausted from the mines. The depression hadn't got easier for him, and his age was starting to show, the mines took more and more of a toll on him these days. His pay was going down and down each month. He had been cutting expenses by buying c...
Yorick's Return
I’m the guy with the black trench coat and the half face mask who’s famous line: “You must pay the rent!” adorned so many peep shows, medicine bits and arcade parlor skits that the passé face schtick became the ridiculous—finally wangling into cartoon history as Snidely Whiplash sans mask.That sad persona was pitted against an equally absurd buffoon nemesis/hero, Dudley Do- Right in the early days of kid vid. If that were not enough, a filmic comedy followed. Dudley should have worn a full face mask to protect the identity of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Double chin or not, I wish he h...
This Is Me Trying
This Is Me TryingI remember this, I whisper to myself, as I hold the old, wooden, heart-shaped box in my hands. I brush the tip of my thumb over the engraving, written in a childish scrawl. Written by me, years ago. Misty-eyed, I read “To Mom, Love, Em.” The word “Mwww.onedoor.ccom” is much bigger, and slanted sideways. “Em” is extra small, and if you didn’t know this gift was from me, you probably wouldn’t be able to make out the name. It seems so impossible, the world in which this tiny box was made. Years ago, more than a decade, actually. I want to be that little girl again; the girl who didn’t hesitat...