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 Birthday Bash Relay. Excited on Second Place! Now for various WDC contests and activities |
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Team Ahimsa ▼ My Turn ▼ For
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Congratulations to 'Team Ahimsa' for your excellent entries earning you the 1st-Runner-Up prize in [Link To Item #1803384] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/type-Blogging-2180.gif) "Note: They came, they ran the race, they conquered! ..." "Congratulations November 2021 Winners!"
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| Yeah, don't ban me. I was happy eating bananas. A Banana Bar would've been the ideal place for me. Don't ban me. If you like, ban Nanna. Yes, ban Nanna. After all, it was all Nanna's fault I got tipsy. Don't believe me? Ask my Dad, he was there. Ask him, I tell you. Nanna got me drunk when I was three years old. Sigh. Yeah, enough of the teaser, you want the story. So I had a cold and my parents were at their wits' end because I was sneezing so much. They'd tried everything everyone told them, from next-door-granny to the postman's wife, and even the Doctor, but my cold wouldn't go and I wouldn't stop sneezing. Finally, they tried Nanna's remedy. Not banana. So, ban Nanna. Nanna suggested a teaspoonful of brandy in a tablespoonful of honey in a glass of warm water. It was duly administered to my sneezy lips. For a few seconds it looked like it had worked. I smiled. I stopped sneezing. My parents were about to look up hopefully, when ... I hiccupped. Hic Hic. Then I tilted a bit, sideways, and walked - or rather, glided - into the table. Or I would've if Mom hadn't caught me. I was well and truly drunk. "It was just one teaspoon in a tablespoonful in a glassful," Nanna sobbed. "NOBODY gets drunk on that much!" "My daughter does," said Mom, through gritted teeth. I was giggling and swaying by then, and bumping into random furniture and tripping over my own feet. Mom was frantic. She was yelling at Nanna. Till Dad did something worse than what Nanna had done. He left the room. "Are you going to get help?" Mom yelled after him. "No, I'm going to get the camera," he called back. "She looks so damn cute when she's tipsy." (They didn't get divorced.) 309 WORDS PROMPT ▼ |
| 298 WORDS Pigheaded. Stubborn. Unwilling to compromise. Not a team player. I've been called all this and more, because I am pigheaded, stubborn, unwilling to compromise and not on board with a team that conducts any sort of classes for kids which compromise on the kids' benefitting. I will not tolerate any other consideration being prioritized over the participants getting short term and long term value. Therefore, my workshops for kids are workshops. They are not babysitting sessions during which the older child supposedly does Shakespeare while the younger one supposedly looks on. What winds up happening is it's a cover up to babysit the younger one for the benefit of the parents' social life. I'm not against parents having a social life, but not at this cost. Don't dump an eight year old into a Shakespeare session meant for age 12 and above. She'll feel intimidated and it might put her off literature forever. Even if I lose you as a customer, I won't let you dump that kid on me. Same goes for event organizers. Don't try to gain numbers by having five year olds in the same batch as 13 year olds. I won't buy your argument that they'll be good for each other. Everyone's pants will be bored off. Yes, I've walked out of meetings for these reasons and I've lost a lot of work over the years. I will not compromise on age group. This has got me into a lot of trouble with adults who have their own agendas. But it's heartwarming when those I have taught tell me how - decades later - they remember my sessions with fondness. By being strict, I created something real and memorable for the age groups I did manage to get through to and I'm so glad about that. Prompt ▼ |
When writing, I like to rhyme It just feels so sublime And when the thought ought to be caught, (is that rot?) with a sound to be found to make it resound well, I'll be bound to fly with feet on the ground! (am I being a dog hound?) So yeah, rhyming's my style I'll go the extra mile I'll heap the words on in a pile I'll make a folder of a file Without guilt, without guile (Don't lock me up in jaile!) I'll even let my spelling start smelling Cause I'm not dwelling on gelling With those who are quelling my telling of my feelings, dealings, reelings Ceilings or floors. Free verse? Yes, it's good, if you could do it well, then you should. But it's not just a sentence broken up vertically it's got to have something poetic to make it stick An interpretation, a metaphor a thought half stated at its core otherwise it's just prose that goes up your nose and tickles to make you sneeze causing a breeze PLEASE this is getting silly You've reached the word count willy-nilly STOP! We beg! Words: 188 PROMPT ▼ |
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