Sandy Supposes....

Andre Sells Out?

Prompt Number Two:

Getting off your duff and taking action when something needs to be sold is often easier said than done, particularly when it's as big as a house.

I resolve to finally sell the house. Is Andre selling the bar, whos house is he selling? Is your Muse raising money? What's going on?

         

         

         

         

         

         

         

         

I've decided to sell the bar. It's time. I can feel the grass growing under my feet and I don't like the feel of it. I'd say it's annoying. And don't tell me to cut it, who has time for that messing about?

         No, I'm not seeking greener pastures. Why would I? Why trade this bar for a bigger field that requires more attention? I did mention I don't mow grass, right?

         Some of the bar patrons, or as I see it hangers-on, think all I do is sit and scratch myself. That's a fair observation, I do enjoy a good, thorough scratch, but now I have another itch to take care of. Are you itching to hear my plans?

         No, I don't have a plan, or a bucket list. This bar came about because of a whim. I needed somewhere to hang, let loose, party, whatever. Swinging from branch to branch in a steamy jungle gets old. I enjoyed the hijinks here. I never knew drunks er, alcohol aficionados loved almost anything with a banana. C'mon, get a life. I mean thanks. Running a bar into the ground has been a blast.

         Everyone expected me to be an animal and, well, I am. I'm a monkey after all. It's my nature to shriek, throw things and scurry about all willy-nilly. I have urges.

         I don't pretend to be a planner nor am I a pantser. I did try them once, pants that is. I never understood all that fuss about keeping your pants on.

         It's my pierogi, no, wait that's one of those dumpling'ish things. It's my pirouette. No! My brain is a bit scrambled although I'll admit I'm dancing about here. Aha, I've got it. It's my prerogative to try something new.

         I'm not sure if I'll need a bucket, or not. I'm not worried about a list. Writing gives me cramps and I don't have a pocket to keep one in. If I had a bucket I could create sand castles, or go crabbing. I've noticed a panhandler or two proffering a bucket to passersby. I could get lucky with that. I did mention I needed change.

( 415 words )