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  • Writer's pictureJeff South

Blogtober, Day 7

Word of the day: Rescue

Maybe this chair wasn’t the best purchase after all, Leslie thought. The fabric she originally picked to refinish the cushion didn’t look as wonderful as she hoped it would. Her second choice didn’t fit quite right, probably because she measure incorrectly, which never happens and holy shit why was this so stressful? Her stress levels reached maximum levels while trying to remove that ill-fitting second fabric. The staples wouldn’t budge no matter the intensity of her pulling or creativity of her profanity. Sweat shimmered on her face and she blew a strand of her away from her eyes. She stood and paced back and forth in front of her adversary.

“Might I be of some assistance?” Marty’s voice caused her to turn with a glance of annoyance at this interruption and drank in the sight of her husband dressed only in a beach towel pinned around his neck as a cape.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I am Exceptionally Good Man. I have to come to rescue you from this catastrophe.” He extended his right hand, beckoning her. “Come to our Fortress of Solitude.”

Leslie brandished her staple puller and smirked. “I am not afraid to use this on you.”

“I just need five minutes of your time.” He smiled. “We have the house to ourselves.”

She giggled in spite of herself, tossed the staple puller onto the chair, and walked with her husband.

She paused and turned when she heard what sounded like a taunting chuckle.

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