Healthy Balls: My Short Story Of the Week

Healthy Balls

 

“Peas is a silly name,” said eight-year-old Elise. “It sounds kind of yucky, you know, like …”

“Pee-pee!” exclaimed Elise’s four-year-old sister, Loretta.

“Come on, now, enough of that,” Steve said as he sat down at the table.

“Sorry,” Loretta mumbled.

“No you’re not,” Elise chided.

“I’m not!” Loretta bellowed before laughing maniacally.

“All right,” Caroline interrupted, “your father made your favorite. Let’s eat while it’s hot.”

Loretta roared, “Bow tie pasta! Yum!”

“Glad somebody’s excited for it,” Steve chuckled.

Steve did indeed make the girls’ favorite dinner. The night previous, he’d made meatloaf, never a popular choice among his children, but a favorite of his wife’s. He thought tonight he’d make something they’d all enjoy. Of course, Elise and Loretta eat the mini farfalle with only Alfredo sauce, whereas he and his wife add peas, red pepper, green pepper, onion, and Parmesan. Steve takes it even a step further with small Italian sausage slices. Not to worry, the girls must still eat their peas, albeit in a separate dish with too much butter.

Obviously, the peas were a topic of great concern to Elise.

“Don’t you think ‘peas’ is kind of a weird name?” Elise asked anyone willing to answer.

“I guess,” Caroline replied.

Elise grinned, then said, “Yeah, like when I drop a pea on the floor, I have to say, ‘Oops, I pead on the floor.’”

Loretta erupted.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard it phrased quite like that,” Steve added.

“No, Steve, she’s right,” Caroline said. “It does sound a little funny to warn people, ‘Oh, no! Don’t step in my pea!’”

Steve groaned, “Seriously? You’re doing it, too?”

The girls burst out laughing, so hard, in fact, that Loretta very nearly fell out of her seat. Steve caught her by the shoulder and hefted her back up into place.

“What would be a better alternative?” Carolina asked Elise.

“Huh?”

Caroline clarified, “What would be a better name for peas?”

Elise took a bite of her garlic bread and thought for several moments. After great contemplation, she finally revealed, “I’ve got it! Green balls!”

Caroline took a drink of soda the moment Elise said this, and within an instant she had to cover her mouth to keep from spitting it out.

Loretta noticed her mother, started pointing, and shouted, “Look at Mommy! Look at Mommy!”

“Green balls, huh?” Steve repeated. “I’ve got to be honest, kiddo … that doesn’t sound appetizing.”

Finally under control, Caroline giggled, “I mean, it’s already hard enough to get most kids to eat their peas, you know? I’m not sure calling them ‘green balls’ will get children excited for a big spoonful.”

“Not me, that’s for sure,” Steve said.

“But you don’t eat peas, Daddy,” Loretta enlightened.

“True enough, sweetheart,” he answered.

Elise, a thoughtful young girl, took the matter to heart. “So we need a name that will make kids want to eat peas but not sound like, you know …”

“Pee-pee!” Loretta hollered. “Pee-pee! Pee-pee!”

“We got it, Loretta,” Caroline said with a smile.

“And ‘green balls’ isn’t any good?” she tested again.

Steve finished chewing before saying, “I won’t lie – it’s not great.”

“Okay. Well then … how about … healthy balls!”

Caroline’s eyes closed so tightly that they began to water as she hunched over and tried her hardest not to laugh. Instead, a sequence of rasps escaped accompanied by a strange series of heaving and jostling.

“I think that’s perfect, Elise,” Steve said. “The doctors will love it. I mean, ‘healthy balls.’ It sounds very nutritious.”

“You think so?” Elise asked. “It’s good?”

Caroline, still unable to talk as she fought to contain her laughter, offered her husband a silent warning with a quick shake of her head.

“It’s very good,” Steve agreed. “I think everyone should have healthy balls.”

“It doesn’t sound gross?” Elise questioned.

“Only if there’s a hair on them,” her father added.

“Steve!” Caroline chastised.

“No, Daddy’s right,” Elise confirmed. “If I find a hair on my food, I can’t eat anymore. It totally grosses me out.”

“Okay,” Caroline began after finally having composed herself, “let’s change topics.”

“Why?” Loretta asked.

“Yeah, why?” Steve repeated with an ornery grin.

“I think kids would love healthy balls,” Elise informed.

“I think we all would,” Steve added. “People will grab big handfuls.”

Caroline again lost control. She pressed her eyes shut, pursed her lips, and tried with all her might to keep it together.

“Maybe Daddy will like to eat them now!” Loretta said.

“Hmm. I don’t know, Lo,” Steve said. “I mean, it is just a name change. I’m guessing they would still taste the same. I’d have to ask someone to try them out for me. Maybe your mom would do me a favor and taste my healthy balls?”

At this Caroline screeched, “Excuse me!” before racing to the bathroom. They heard her slam the door, turn on the fan, run the water, and then emit a sound so jarring that the girls’ eyes grew quite concerned.

“Is Mommy crying?” Loretta asked.

It’d been a while since Steve heard such a ruckus from his wife. He informed the girls, “Ladies, what you’re hearing is your mother’s genuine laughter. It is not for the faint of heart.”

Elise looked at Steve very seriously and said, “I don’t think you guys are talking about peas.”

Loretta added, “I think they’re talking about real balls!”

Steve then had to excuse himself from the table as well.

Some time passed before the parents rejoined their children, at which point they agreed they should probably stick with the name “peas” and have no more talk of healthy balls.

Loretta, however, noticed Steve and Caroline’s conspiratorial glance to one another. She offered one of her own to Elise, which prompted a mischievous smirk in return.

This was not over.


Copyright © 2017 by Scott William Foley

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews or articles.

A Blind Date For a New Year: My Short Story Of the Week

BLINDDATENEWYEAR

Ellen Knowles entered the posh restaurant, shook the snow from her black Rivington leather kitten-heel high boots, removed her pink cashmere wrap, and then approached the thin-faced, large-bellied maître d’.

“Happy New Year, Madame!” he exclaimed in perfectly rehearsed passion.

“Soon enough, I hope,” she replied without looking at him. She unbuttoned her overcoat.

“How may I be of service, Madame?” he asked as he admired her immaculate wardrobe.

“I’m meeting someone; perhaps he’s here already?”

“Ah, yes,” the maître d’ purred. “You must speak of Mr. McLeay. He said a ravishing woman might arrive in search of a rendezvous. Follow me, if you please.”

Ellen trailed the maître d’, ignoring the fact that the tails of his tuxedo remained inert due to his rotund posterior. Finally, she perceived a lone man wearing a rather shabby brown sport coat. He sat at a table dressed in white cloth with two lit candles upon it. Tiny flames danced along the man’s forehead as he perspired.

“Hi,” he said upon noticing her approach. He rose from his seat and offered an unadorned hand. “You must be Ellen.”

“I am,” she said as she gracefully—and rather slowly—removed her black leather gloves. She finally took his still hovering hand within her own and, after realizing that he intended only to shake it, said, “And you must be Bartholomew.”

“Lord! Please—call me Bart. Bartholomew makes me feel like I’m back in grade school.”

She smiled, her red lips dazzling in the soft light surrounding them, and assured, “Then ‘Bart’ it shall be.”

Ellen remained upright as Bart took his seat in an effort to hide his frumpy black pants. She waited a few moments as he readjusted his silverware, eyes darting between her and the cutlery, then removed her own black double-faced wool Bella overcoat. Though the establishment achieved a pleasing ambiance and reputedly served exquisite cuisine, Ellen found their lack of a coat check service deplorable.

She positioned her outerwear over the back of her chair in order to avoid any potential wrinkles before seating herself.

“I’m glad a meeting could finally be arranged. Anderson had wonderful things to say about you,” she commented while grasping the corners of her dinner napkin. She flung it onto her lap with effortless efficiency.

Bart snatched up his napkin sprawled upon the table, fought the urge to stuff it into the collar of his plaid shirt, and instead tossed it to his right leg. “He said great things about you, too. Though, I have to say, he didn’t tell me you were quite so …”

Bart trailed off and averted her gaze.

Ellen’s brown eyes grew slightly wide, and, had she been a less polished woman, might even have lifted her eyebrows in anticipation. When it became obvious that Bart would rather play with his salad fork than conclude his statement, she pressed the matter.

“He didn’t tell you I was quite so what, Bart?” she requested pleasantly enough, though her pulse quickened.

Bart finally allowed his salad fork some time alone, glanced up at her, and said, “Aw, Ellen, I hate to be so forward. I can only imagine what you must be thinking right now, so I better come out with it. I have a habit of sticking my foot in my mouth, you see, and even though it’s been a long time, I don’t remember being too impressive on first dates, especially on such an important day …”

“It’s only New Year’s Eve, Bart. It’s not so very important.”

At the conclusion of Ellen’s statement, Bart’s face seemed to take on a mixture of both ash and crimson. He felt a blind date on New Year’s Eve could only be outranked by a date on one’s birthday or Christmas itself!

“You were saying, Bart?”

“Oh, right. Well, Ellen, what I was about to say, before I worried about being too direct, you see, is that Anderson didn’t tell me, well, he didn’t tell me you were so … forgive me, Ellen, but he didn’t tell me you were so beautiful.”

Though her posture remained pristine, Ellen’s heart rate tripled and she couldn’t help but smile … a little. She leaned almost imperceptibly forward, so as not to be judged a tart by any of the establishment’s eavesdropping connoisseurs, and replied, “Nor did Anderson tell me you were so very handsome.”

A wide smile spread across Bart’s face.

Inching ever closer toward her date—meddlesome eavesdroppers be damned—Ellen divulged, “I lied, Bart. A blind date on New Year’s Eve is very special indeed, and though I struggled against my family’s discovery of this engagement, Anderson found it humorous to email all of them with the news.”

Laughter erupted from Bart’s depths, and he confessed, “That fool did the same thing to me, too! I bet I’ll have at least four different messages on my voice mail tonight.”

The server at last arrived and set a menu before both Ellen and Bart. “Shall we perhaps begin with a glass of wine, Madame and Monsieur?”

Ellen perused the menu, as did Bart; however, because she was so absorbed in the restaurant’s delicious selection, she didn’t notice his eyes bulge when he read the outrageous prices.

Returning her attention to the waitress, Ellen asked, “Before we order, I must inquire: Do you honor AARP discounts?”

“Of course, Madame, though we require a membership card.”

Looking across the elegant dinner table, Ellen asked, “How about it, Bart? Did you bring your card tonight?”

His heart fought to free itself from the confines of his chest as Bart answered, “You bet your boots, Ellen.”

“Very good, then,” Ellen said to the server. “We’ll start with a bottle of Dom Pérignon Rose.”

Bart praised, “You’re my kind of woman, Ellen.”

Despite all her refined inclinations, Ellen winked in return.


Copyright © 2008/2019 by Scott William Foley

This work originally published in the February 2008 edition of 60 Plus News and Views

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews or articles.

Over My Dead Body: My Short Story Of the Week

OverMyDeadBodyCover

As Preston, Jared, Reggie, and Dale snuck out of Reggie’s car and slithered among the shadows of the sidewalk, Jared said, “I heard Andy ratted us out, guys. They’re saying Mr. Washington bribed him with doughnuts.”

Reggie replied, “So what if he did? Look, Mr. Washington’s house is completely dark. He’s probably in bed by now.”

“I bet he doesn’t even hand out candy to trick-or-treaters,” Preston laughed.

“He’d probably just give math problems to solve,” Dale added.

“Well,” Reggie began, “he’s definitely getting a trick tonight.”

The boys, hunched over like covert operatives, glided through Mr. Washington’s yard. Jared and Dale veered off past the weeping willow and started jabbing plastic fork after plastic fork into the well-kept grass while Preston and Reggie broke out the plastic wrap and headed for the driveway. There rested Mr. Washington’s prized possession—a 1955 red and white Crown Victoria.

“We should have brought toilet paper,” Preston whispered as he moved to the opposite side of the car.

“Nah, too boring,” Reggie said. “Man, I can’t wait to see Mr. Washington’s face Monday morning. We’re going to be legends after this!”

Stabbing one fork after another into the cool ground, Dale glanced over and saw Preston and Reggie tightly wrapping the car. “This is awesome!” he whispered to Jared. “No one’s ever been able to pull a prank on Mr. Washington!”

Jared grinned and returned, “Looks like there’s a first time for everything.”

Just then, Mr. Washington erupted from the front porch while hurling eggs at the boys. He yelled, “You scoundrels! What took you so long? I’ve been waiting all night!”

With yolk oozing down his forehead, Dale screamed, “Run! Andy snitched!”

But then Mr. Washington tripped over the last step and landed hard on the front walk.

Broken eggs surrounded his inert body.

Preston, Reggie, Jared, and Dale all laughed … until they realized he wasn’t getting up. Knowing their teacher’s reputation for deception, they gingerly approached.

Even in the dark, they saw something amiss.

“Oh, my—is that blood?” Dale asked beneath his breath.

Preston said, “Turn his body over so we can see his face.”

“No!” Reggie exclaimed. “Never move someone who’s unconscious.”

“We should call an ambulance,” Dale said.

Jared demanded, “He’s face down in his own blood, guys—we have to move him or he could choke to death!”

“If he’s not already dead,” Dale added.

“Shut up with that!” Reggie admonished.

Preston knelt beside his felled teacher. He took Mr. Washington by the shoulders and rolled him over.

Jared said, “Turn on a flashlight so we can see how bad he’s hurt.”

Once illuminated, Mr. Washington’s face–implausibly injured–horrified his students.

Reggie uttered, “We killed him.”

“We’re going to jail,” Preston muttered after turning away.

Jared, his voice shaking, whimpered, “But it wasn’t our fault … ”

Suddenly, the boys saw the porch lights flare to life as Mrs. Washington shrieked, “Noah? Noah? What happened?”

They could not move when Mrs. Washington rushed down the porch steps and hurled herself upon her husband’s body.

With tear-stained cheeks, she looked up and wailed, “What did you do? What did you do to my darling Noah?”

Lifting his palms up in surrender, Jared cried, “Nothing! He just fell! We didn’t touch him!”

Mr. Washington abruptly sprang to unnatural life, dragged his wife to the ground, and then appeared to seize her jugular with his front teeth.

Blood spurted from Mrs. Washington’s neck even as she begged for mercy.

Jared and Dale did not hesitate. They bolted.

Reggie and Preston remained, but when they saw Mrs. Washington go limp and Mr. Washington face them with blood dripping down his chin, they quickly followed suit.

Mr. Washington’s bestial roars gave way to uncontrollable laughter.

“Are they gone?” Mrs. Washington asked while sitting up and wiping the fake blood from her neck.

“They’re gone,” Mr. Washington guffawed. “You did great, honey!”

Mrs. Washington looked at her husband and said, “How I let you talk me into this foolishness is beyond me. That’s the last time you use my supplies for these silly pranks of yours.”

“Fair enough,” Mr. Washington said before giving his wife a messy peck on the cheek. “I can’t wait to see those jokers’ faces Monday morning when they walk into class and see me standing there.”

No longer able to resist laughing as well, Mrs. Washington smiled and said, “Well, this was one of your best, I’ll give you that. You’ll never outgrow these things, will you?”

“What? And give them the upper hand? Over my dead body!”

Mrs. Washington put her arm around her husband’s waist, shook her head, and then ascended the porch steps with him.

“What do you say we leave the lights on for any trick-or-treaters?” Mr. Washington asked.

“Isn’t it a little late for that? They shouldn’t be out at this hour.”

“Oh,” Mr. Washington sang, “there are always a few stragglers. Just this once, I think I’ll reward tardiness.”

Mrs. Washington almost asked if her husband would like to clean the gruesome make-up off his face before handing out candy, but she knew better than to bother.


Copyright © 2008/2019 by Scott William Foley

This work originally appeared in Bloomington News and Views for the Young at Heart, October 2008

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews or articles.

“Follow Me: A Short Story” Now Available On the Nook

Yesterday I announced that “Follow Me: A Short Story” could be read on the Kindle, and today I’m happy to report that it can be read on the Nook as well!

If you have a Nook, I hope you’ll download “Follow Me: A Short Story.” It’s about TJ, a little boy whose big brother wakes him up with a simple order: “Follow me.” By the night’s conclusion, he’ll wish he had stayed in bed.

Originally published in the November, 2007, issue of 60 Plus News & Views, this humorous little story will take you right back to your childhood, especially if you had a big brother.

Click on the image or click HERE to download to your Nook for $00.99.

Thank you so much for giving my story a read. Enjoy!

FOLLOW ME

Are you in need of a new epic series? Try Dr. Nekros, a trilogy that I like to describe as Moonlighting meets The X-FilesKindle: https://amzn.to/2X3S7vO or NOOK: http://bit.ly/2JTFXm1

Do You Read On Your Kindle? Check Out “Follow Me: A Short Story”

Do you enjoy reading on your Kindle? If so, I hope you’ll check out my short story called “Follow Me.”

Here’s the pitch: TJ’s big brother wakes him up with a simple order: “Follow me.” By the night’s conclusion, he’ll wish he had stayed in bed.

Originally published in the November, 2007, issue of 60 Plus News & Views, this humorous little story will take you right back to your childhood, especially if you had a big brother.

Click on the image or click HERE to download to your Kindle for $00.99. Thank you!

FOLLOW ME.jpg

Are you in need of a new epic series? Try Dr. Nekros, a trilogy that I like to describe as Moonlighting meets The X-FilesKindle: https://amzn.to/2X3S7vO or NOOK: http://bit.ly/2JTFXm1

Looking For a New Epic To Enjoy? Give Dr. Nekros a Try

Are you in need of a new epic series?  Try Dr. Nekros, a trilogy that I like to describe as Moonlighting meets The X-Files.

When Micah Vadenburgh is ravaged by a demon after trying to jump-start a ghost hunting career, he abandons his wife, his doctoral degree, and even his dog in pursuit of vengeance.  Ten years later, Micah has adopted a new persona–Dr. Nekros–but is no closer to exacting revenge.  Zetta Southerland, his ex-wife, appears one day with a warning that his life is in danger.  Little does Dr. Nekros, or Zetta, realize that the demon is closer than they know, and they have both fallen into the monster’s trap.  Dr.Nekros is a darkly humorous story about the depravity of obsession, but it also explores the bonds of family and the hope of redemption.

If this sounds like a series for you, download the first e-book at Amazon or Barnes and Noble by clicking the links …

AMAZON KINDLE

BARNES AND NOBLE NOOK

DR NEKROS BOOK ONE E EDITION COVER

All Hail Jeff Passan! … Wait, Who’s Jeff Passan?

I’ve written before about my love of The Dan Le Batard Show With Stugotz.  They are a daily radio show on ESPN that take a slightly different approach to sports.  Often hilarious, they are also always entertaining.

A new guest debuted today–Jeff Passan.  Passan spent over a decade with Yahoo Sports and just joined ESPN in January of 2019.  Apparently, he will be their new baseball analyst and breaking news guy.  Dan kind of stumbled over his intro, so I get the feeling not too many people at ESPN have gotten a good feel him.

If we’re being honest, I could not care less about baseball.  Even with that being said, Passan may be my new all-time hero.

Dan and the guys were talking about bald men because that’s the kind of things they talk about, which somehow led to Sean Connery, which next led to bad Sean Connery impressions, which then prompted Dan to ask Passan if he did a bad Sean Connery impression as soon as Passan joined the show.  Passan, realizing that this was the first time we’ve heard him on the program, gamely played along and performed a poor Sean Connery impression.  Okay!  As far as we–the audience–were concerned, this guy was going to be all right.  He can have some fun.  He doesn’t seem to take himself or sports too seriously.  He can be fluid and flexible when he makes an appearance.

Passan could have left it at that and made a fine first impression.

Oh, but he decided to level up.

Passan, who had to know what would come next, willingly volunteered the fact that, while his Connery impression isn’t great, he has a few impressions that are masterful.

Well, come on.  Dan and crew aren’t going to let that slide by.  They asked him which one he thought was his best.

Passan answered Elmo.

Elmo.

Dan’s impending dementia flared up when he got Elmo and Grover confused, but that’s okay, we love him anyway, and then Passan added that he will only do Elmo if he can say something inappropriate.

I won’t tell you the line Dan threw out there because I’m a public school teacher and value my career, but Passan nailed it.

Nailed it.

At that point, Dan and the team insisted that Passan give them his analysis on recent baseball news only in an Elmo voice.  Passan, being probably the newest guy at ESPN and hoping to establish himself as a credible sports reporter to an unfamiliar audience had every right to laugh off the request right then and there.  He did Connery.  He did Elmo.  What more could we ask of the man?

He agreed to do it.

Listening to Passan offer baseball analysis in an Elmo voice … I had tears rolling down my face.

Passan made a point to joke about the whole thing being a bad idea with phrases similar to “career suicide” and “I’m going to regret this” … but he kept going!

Look, I don’t care about baseball at all, but I instantly followed Jeff Passan on Twitter.  This is my kind of guy.  I can’t wait for him to visit the show again … as long as he does his Elmo voice.

Go give Passan’s segment a listen and show this man a little love.  You can hear his appearance at this link: http://www.espn.com/espnradio/play?id=26038796

You can also follow Jeff Passan on Twitter here: https://twitter.com/JeffPassan

Men with this kind of bravery … they deserve our adoration.  Move over Elmo, it’s–na na nana, na na nana–Passan’s world!

elmobaseball

(Did you enjoy this article?  Check out Scott William Foley’s Dr. Nekros e-book series HERE)