Mushi mushi,
For those of you who don't know about the Muse Wars (anyone? anyone at all?), it is basically an informal short story writing challenge- 500 words-ish, 48-ish to complete, first link in the comment section gets to choose the next piccie. Anyone can play- just cruise on over to Jen's place and McLinky up when you're done.
Here's all the history and linky loves.... Originally the brilliant idea of Melissa at The Things I'd Tell You, christened the Muse Wars by the MadMother when she set Challenge Two. Challenge Three by was set by the Menopausal Mumma, Challenge Four by yours truly. Challenge Five was set by the muchly awesome Gemma at Sometimes You Just Need To Vent. Challenge Six was again set by Kakka at Menopausal Mumma. Challenge Seven by me again. Challenge Eight set by the MadMother.
We are up to Challenge Nine, set by the muchly lovely Jen. She actually set it about a week ago. And I've had the story in my head ever since. I just hadn't quite gotten around to putting it down (up?) on screen yet.
So, Jen went and did this hilarious post and I decided to get my lazy bum into gear and write the bloody story before Jen's blog is taken over by a cute but un-doubt-a-deb-bly evil puppy. So here we go. Enjoy. Or the puppy gets it. No. Wait.... Jen disappears? Something like that, anyway.
Mid Life Crisis
He was on his way.
Hitchhiking. But surely it wouldn't be difficult? At 55, Robert looked both boring and respectable. Not your usual type of hitch hiker. Would that work in his favor?
He'd soon find out. It didn't matter. He'd walk the whole 150 k's if he had to.
He was still fuming that, in the end, it had been her decision, not his. After all these weeks of careful planning, of almost exquisite anticipation, his wife Nora had used what little woman's intuition she had and sniffed his plan right out.
Ah, well. Perhaps it was better this way. It looked better, sounded better. Nora had told him to hit the road, he hadn't just up and left.
150 k's away. If he managed to hitch a ride sometime soon, he would be there in matter of hours. With his new girl. Who would surely prove to be the love of his life.
Nora had ignored it all at first. It started with him innocently flicking through the ads tucked away in the very middle of the Sunday paper. Week after week she was there, this temptress, just begging him...
Nora had seen him looking, peering over his shoulder as she had habit of doing. She had chortled, ribbed him good natured-ly.
One phone call had been all it took. Fantasy suddenly seemed almost real. Almost like flesh and blood. Close enough to touch.
He suspected that his big mistake, the one that tipped Nora off, had been confiding in one of his work colleagues. Loose lips sink ships, as they say. He shouldn't have, he knew that. But the cubicle drudgery of their job was so god damned boring.
And he had to tell someone. To brag. Just a little bit.
And why wouldn't he? It wasn't often that guys his age, in his position, could go for a hot model like this one.
A '65 Mustang convertible, fully restored. Candy apple red. Impractical, expensive and chewed through fuel like beer on a summer afternoon.
Didn't matter. This time tomorrow, he'd be back on this stretch of road. Driving his baby back home.
And it would all be worth it. Even the smug look on his wife's face and her inevitable muttering about "Silly men and their mid-life crises" when he pulled into the driveway in his new car.
Dedicated to my Man, and his bloody car that takes up half my freaking garage. Bitch.