"Promise me ice cream," I said, making my chin quiver.

 
Butterscotch

25. Injection

by Erin Halfelven

It was early morning at the Hazel house when I had a broom and dustpan in my hand going everywhere with hardwood and sweeping any and everything I could. Next, I vacuumed everywhere with carpet and dust cleaned anywhere and everywhere: the walls, ceiling fans, shelves, etcetera. Then I wiped off the counters in both bathrooms and kitchen. Finally, I was washing plates and making breakfast when Mr. Hazel walked in.

“Hey, Rome, mighty early.” He sniffed, “Mmm, that smells good, wha cha making?”

I smiled, “I’m just making muffins, I found some in the cabinet.”

Positively Patsy Part 21

We went back to the house Monday morning and Jake and the band showed up for lunch. We were sitting down eating, and Greg told them why he wanted to see them. “Guys, I walked off the stage in London thinking that I would be dead in a few weeks and intended never to again grace a stage.”

You Must Die Before You Live
Copyright 10/2/2020
Barbie Lee. Proofed by Catherine Linda Michel.

Story may be shared but not published for profit or any other gains.

Dinner time at the Hazel’s was unlike dinner time in my family. Sure, mom cooked once in a while, but she always got lazy and would slouch onto her bed for hours. Florence cooked for a bit until she went off to college. It was up to me; Florence taught me the basics, but sometimes I didn’t have the time to cook meals, or dad would scream about me cooking cuz it’s a ‘girls’ job’. Often leaving us to buy take-out. Looking at it now, I think my mother is more depressed than an enabler. This is odd because when Naples started showing mental illness signs, she readily took him to a therapist.

Photo by Wilson Vitorino from Pexels
 

Part 29 of 29

Epilogue, October 9, 2020
The whole Covid-19 mess has left me with a great deal of time on my hands. One of the things I have done is re-read my diaries from the beginning of my transition. I've decided that sharing them might be a help to someone else who is thinking that living as a woman is a desirable thing to do, so I've excerpted those parts about transitioning.

A response to a writers’ challenge -- "A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day."

This is the conclusion to the interconnected Amy Amstel stories started in “My Date as a Teenage Girl Model”. If you haven’t read the earlier stories I suggest you start there (330+ Kudos clickers can be wrong but the odds are in your favor). The stories about Amy Amstel are mostly self-contained though.

Transatlantic flights seldom are fun. If you start from Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport terminal 2 you don’t exactly get off on a good start either. If you really are a bit too tired to work it’s even less fun. Flying west I try not to sleep on the flight since that really messes up my sleep-cycles. I was a bit surprised to find a scraggy teenager in the seat next to me. Not the usual passenger in first class. I decided that a long chat with the boy would be preferable to pretending to work. It didn’t start too well. When I introduced myself, Harry Howard, and told him that I was editor–in-chief of the most important fashion magazine for men the boy looked horrified. Apparently not a fashion aficionado. Well, I could have told that from his clothes. Jeans and white T-shirt as well as disheveled hair. Despite that he had a “groomed” look if you looked closer. Actually if you looked very closely he was kind of “pretty”. Shaped eye-brows, holes in his ears, just a hint of mascara remaining on those very impressive eye-lashes. Intriguing.

It was not long before I arrived at Frankfurt’s house. It was decent size and sweetly placed in a nice neighborhood. I had met Frankfurt in kindergarten after both being into Pokémon. We used to hang out every day with our Gameboys and play the newest games. We somehow got every class together, and that cemented our friendship continuing even now.

Part 5

The nurse took me back to my room where I was put back into bed and given a shot to allow me to sleep. The next day Francesca came to see me and she told me that I was no longer her maid but would now be classed as family, as will Mario when he recovers.

It was almost three when my parents came in with dad’s signature, “Hey buddy, how you feeling?” He always comes in with that when I put myself in the hospital accidently.

“I’m fine I guess.” Mom came up to me and put a hand on my shoulder

“You gave us quite a scare with that stunt you pulled.” Dad’s voice nice yet with a tone of ‘you’re so fucking dead when we get home’. Why can’t he just be an asshole all the time and not put up this stupid act?

Photo by Wilson Vitorino from Pexels
 

Part 27 of 29

Thursday, December 26, 2013
I have a decision to make, and I've been putting it off. Mary Ann and I have been tossing around our options and her family has been able to offer some pretty good advice, but the decision is mine in the end. No, that's not completely true. Mary Ann and I have to make the decision together as it affects the both of us.

Natalia has to make a choice as the princess plots behind her back.
Chapter 15

Deliveries
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Photo by Wilson Vitorino from Pexels
 

Part 26 of 29

Monday, December 16
Oddly, I got the answer to finding Mary Ann's gift in the psychology exam this morning. There were questions about family relations and - of course! - dysfunction. Which made me realize I should call her brother Dale and ask him if he has any bright ideas. I had to slap myself and put my mind back on the exam after getting another bright idea.

Cary learns about life at an early age, which is TFB for him.

“D-Do you re-really wan-wanna do this, Roman?” My pudgy, little brother, Naples stuttered to me. He was only nine, timid, and terrified of anything and everything. One time he got scared of a snail. Yes, a snail, those cute little buggers. Mom had to hold him real tight to get him to stop screaming. Probably doesn’t help that he’s baby’d by our Mom. Fortunately for me, I got a free snail to add to my collection. Named her Shelly along with Dr. Slugger and Slimy.

Hot Water Helps You Clean
by Angela Rasch

I had just finished conditioning the oak woodwork in our twenty-year old home’s basement with Murphy Oil Soap when the doorbell rang. I scanned myself in the wall mirror and wished for the millionth time that my uniform fit me better. There’s only so much you can do to make a maid’s dress look natural on a forty-year old male body that weighs in excess of two hundred pounds, unless you make drastic changes. . .operations and hormones. I sighed . . . Once again considering things that could never happen.

Robber
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

What can I say? I am a criminal. It is almost as if I have never had a choice. I just like to get things the easy way. Sure, there are consequences, but the trick is to not be caught.

Nancy helps Sandy start the journey to self-understanding.