It’s that time again, when I ask YOU to name something or someone in my upcoming novel! I love reading your ideas and the little short stories that sometimes accompany them. It’s like a little peek into your brains.
And it’s terrifying. Ha!
This time I’m a week away from finishing Pineapple Port Mystery #4 – Pineapple Land War – and I need to name a toy store. (form below)
But first, I’m going to tell you a fable. A fable is a story with a lesson, and today’s lesson is don’t laugh at your mate or you’ll soon make an idiot out of yourself, too.
I was in the office the other day when I heard my husband Mike scream. Really scream. Like he’d fallen and broken a leg.
I’ve lived and worked at home with Mikey for a long time, so I’m aware that his terrified screams usually mean a bird swooped too close to his head while taking out the trash (him, not the bird) or he stepped on a sock he hadn’t expected and imagined it was a rat. But something about this scream piqued my interest, so I wandered into the bathroom to find him hunched over, his hand over his eye.
He’d shot himself in the eye with his new water-pick.
Why did he shoot himself in the eye with a water-pick?
Honestly, it’s best not to ask.
Why did he buy a water-pick? Did he get adult braces?
No. He bought it on a whim and immediately regretted it because it’s total junk with a manual that reads like it was written by someone using only letters randomly pulled from a Scrabble bag. He really regretted it after threatening to return it, because I said “Yeah, why not? Someone probably returned it before you bought it.” He’d already had it in his mouth and proceeded to freak out, which, for me, was worth every penny he’d spent on it.
Anyway, when I discovered he’d shot himself in the eye with the stupid thing, I laughed really hard for a really long time. Ungracious, maybe, but unavoidable.
Soon after, I walked to the kitchen to make some lunch. Mike appeared soon after and pointed at a tee shirt lying on the floor.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“I don’t know—Oh.”
That’s when I realized I did know. Earlier that morning, I’d tried to slip into the tee and sweatshirt I’d worn briefly the night before, but I’d missed the arm holes of the tee shirt. (I’d suspected as much at the time, but was too tired to double check.) The tee spent the entire day balled up in my sweatshirt, slowly working it’s way out, like a steak dinner in a colon, until it finally escaped —- right in front of Mike.
Walking around all day with a tee balled up under your sweatshirt is arguably even dumber than shooting yourself in the eye with a water-pick. But it confirms we were made for each other.
Name A Toy Store In Pineapple Port #4!
Winner gets a signed print copy & 3 random people will win an ebook copy! (and of course, you get to tell your grand kids your toy store was in a novel…)
And as always, here’s a giveaway! Giddy-up!