Flash! Friday #20


Picture, if you will, a man with perfect hair.


Perfect hair.

Exactly. Bent over at the waist, holding a newspaper.

Not The Sun. Something better.

Okay, fine. The Sun. In it is an ad for a new kind of home appliance. “Designed to make child’s play of women’s work!”

She doesn’t seem interested.

What do you mean, “Who?” The woman he’s talking to. Men don’t bend over at the waist and hold newspapers when they’re alone, for crying out loud. Anyway.

She’s not interested. Or she’s lobotomized. Difficult to tell, really. Her hair is not perfect.

She’s being shoved off her chair by a pillow. And she’s wearing a bunch of grapes around her neck.

“Don’t you see?” He’s saying. “You have to listen to me. My hair is perfect. And so is the crease in my pants. There are no straighter lines in nature.

“This device will make you happy. You want to be happy, like me, don’t you?”

She doesn’t seem interested. Because she’s not. She’s sad. Her hair is not perfect, the grapes are wet and cold, the pillow is pushy, and she hates women’s work. And child’s play.

He will fall over soon, standing in this position. Or at least throw out his back. “Why won’t you look at me? Or at least The Sun?”

Because. She cannot speak. Or she can, but she doesn’t care.

It doesn’t matter anyway, for she sees the wall quiver and pulse. Perfection is revealed to her, and it has nothing to do with perfect hair, pillows, creases, or pushy pillows.

And scene.


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