Grapes With Rabies

RDP Thursday:PUCE

Photo by Little Visuals on

When my Dad

used to get angry with me

which he did often because I was never quite up to scratch

in the daughter department and he was never quite satisfied that I wasn’t a mental defective

his face used to turn an alarming shade of red when he started to yell at me.

I was always a little fascinated by that because he had red hair and green eyes that got

blood shot when he was super mad so it looked like his entire head was catching on


I would stare at him , you know waiting for him to spontaneously  combust,  and he

would screech

” wipe that look off of your face little girl

and I would try to not laugh because by the time I was 12 I was five foot five and taller

than him by an inch or two plus the thought of people going catching on fire for no

reason was comical to me. Probably too comical.

So now when I think of the color red it makes me laugh- which has created many an awkward situation  when I see blood.


On the other hand when my Dad wasn’t angry with me, just overwhelmed by the

human wreckage created by half of his DNA his face would turn purple and words

would fail him and he would just stand there, turning purple and trying to burn holes

into my face with this glare that was supposed to turn me into a puddle of cowering, spineless, goo.

It never worked.

Do you know what green eyes in a face purple with rage looks like to me?

A grape with rabies.


So rage at me, be disgusted try to intimidate me

I don’t mind- take your time and give it your best shot.

I want to see if you’re going to burst into flames or turn into a  rabid grape.

It’s one or the other, it always is and I am always amused.

Photo by Anni Roenkae on





Better Than Me


Writer’s Write January Prompt

#2 Rouge

Rouge your cheeks

curl your hair, wear something like all of the other women wear

so much better than you.


Ask them where they found that dress, got their nails done

and learned to be so much more than you.


How can they be so much more attractive

 than you

put together so much more stylishly than you

even on their worst day?

He asked me, begged me, wheedled at me about it






So I tried and tried to be something better than me

sexier then me

so much more than me.

Until it came to me, in a flash-

what suit I would  bury him in.







right choice

at last.

I wonder if he will agree.

Probably not.

But I won’t care.

Because nobody can dress a corpse

better than me, more stylishly  than me

even on




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