Wednesday, August 08, 2007
3 Word Wednesday XLVII
Welcome to Three Word Wednesday. Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also attempt to write something using the same words.
Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.
This week's words are:
Through two years of dating and now over a year of marriage, Sondra had gotten her way in every single decision "they" had made. From where they ate, to where they went on vacation, to who their friends were, to what furniture they bought, which included the awful rattan chair where Martin now sat. Everytime a decision was discussed, he would eventually yield to her demands.
Martin was determined to take a stand. He had been out in the garage while Sondra was gone to the mall, when he happened across a box of his things curiously labeled "trash." Right on top had been his favorite camouflage pajamas. He knew of her distaste for them--she had bought him some pastel green silk things for Christmas that he refused to wear--but never thought she would throw them out without asking.
The sound of the car turning into the driveway brought Martin to his feet. He walked almost tentatively into the kitchen. Clinching the pajamas like a vice, he took his place a few feet away from the garage door, and braced himself.
Sondra could be very intimidating. His friends always joked that he was afraid of her. And even though she was only about 5'6" and 120 pounds, there may have been a sliver of truth to that.
The key turned in the door and when Sondra appeared in a hurry, Martin's courage waivered a bit. But he seemed to draw strength from the camouflage.
"Why are you throwing these out?" He caught her before she had time to speak, holding up the cause he was fighting for.
"You never wear them," Sondra answered matter-of-factly. She always made such a strong case.
"But... they're my favorite pajamas," he pleaded, already thinking his argument sounded weak.
"Fine, keep them."
And that was it. Martin had done it. He had taken a stand, and won. That wasn't so bad, he thought, it's about time things started changing around here. He turned to carry his trophy back to the bedroom, but his mental celebration was quickly interrupted.
"Why aren't you dressed?" Sondra asked demandingly, not waiting for an answer. "We have to be at the Kirbys in thirty minutes!"
"I am dressed," he retorted.
"Oh, you are so not wearing that. Put on that yellow shirt I got you for your birthday and I'll pick you out a tie."
"Been a whole lot happier without her face around. Nobody upstairs gonna stomp and shout. Nobody at the back door gonna throw my laundry out..."