parasol

The parasol

is a light, delicate object that a woman holds with her.

It twirls in the wind, floats on the breeze,

Or it can lay neatly on the grassy meadow, even casting beauty in its shadow.

The parasol can elevate a woman's status and image,

Except if there's a hole in it.

So please: don't punch holes through your parasol.

flamboyant

I know he's supposed to be blending in, but don't you think his clothes are a little flamboyant?

If he was real, we would always be able to find him.

swish

The squeaking of shoes, the hot, humid air, the cheering of the audience as boys in uniform run up and down the court.

Yep, I'm at a basketball game.

"Who's your boy? Number 14 is mine," I told the woman next to me. She turned and smiled at me.

"My son is number 44," she replied, pointing out a short kid with large round frames perched daintily on his nose. I resisted the urge to laugh and instead politely smiled back, nodding at the kid. Poor guy must have been forced on the team and taken on out of pity.

"He looks really good," I said to her. He had just rebounded the ball and was dribbling it across the court. At least the kid could move. I could see my Arthur standing on the side, waiting almost as if he didn't care if he got the ball or not.

"Thanks," the woman laughed. "He's just learned how to play this year. But I think he's getting the hang of it," she said as 44 ran in the middle of the defense and made a layup. Huh. Lucky shot.

"My boy's been playing for years now," I told her offhandedly. "He loves basketball. He can do anything with a ball." I shrugged even though inside I was beaming with pride at my little treasure.

"Oh, does he?" She frowned and watched as Arthur jogged lazily down the court. What a cocky boy! But the confidence was fitting, after all.

Arthur finally got the ball and held it, calculating it in his hands before he delivered what was to be the prettiest shot of the game. "Yeah, he's pretty much our little star," I said with a smile. Come on, Arthur! You can do it! "Go for the swish, baby!" I yelled.

He jumped and released, the ball sailing over the hands of the defender as it made toward the basket. "Go Arthur!" I screamed. He did it! He...

It was a swish all right. It was a perfect swish into thin air.

dessert

Happy Father's Day!




It's a special day for a special person, and I wanted to make it perfect. Last night, I researched for two hours on a delicious dinner specifically cooked for you because I know how particular you can be. I wanted you to enjoy everything! This morning I bought all the ingredients I would need. I asked Mom how to make your favorite soup, and I let the meat marinate in a specially made sauce for five hours. I want it to be extra juicy for you, so I made sure to keep checking on it while it cooked. I prepared everything and even decided to take on the challenge of dessert. Who doesn't love chocolate lava cake? It took an hour or so for me to finish everything, but you were smiling when you finished your plate. All I had to do was bring you dessert.


It's the cake's fault. It was sitting there all warm and gooey, and I could smell the buttery chocolate love from its little ramekin. I really meant to bring it to you, but before I knew it, I had the spoon in my hand and heavenly deliciousness in my mouth. I don't know how it happened.


But aside from that, aren't I a good daughter?

gutter

"Whoo, you need me to call 911? Because you're smoking hot, girl!" He winked at me but got distracted by his drink before I could give him the finger. I rolled my eyes and just turned around.


See, this is why I hate parties. Slimeballs seem to live and reproduce at these things because everywhere you turn, you find another one who's drooling in your face. And to think I could've been home finishing this weekend's homework...


Freya suddenly appeared next to me, panting from probably dancing. "Having fun yet?" She laughed at my expression and patted me roughly on the back. "You have to go out there and dance! Loosen up a little." I shook my head, but she took my hand anyway and began to drag me to the next room.


"Did you hear what that creep said?" I yelled loudly to her over Kanye's auto-tuned voice. Why would anyone want to blast his music at a party is beyond me. "How can I be having fun when there are people like that who actually exist?"


Freya laughed and swung me into a mass of sweating, stinky people. "Dance!" she said, bumping my hips with hers. "Forget him! Just make sure you're having fun!"


I grumbled to myself, but I couldn't help smiling back at my friend. "Dance!" she urged again, nodding her head in encouragement. Rolling my eyes, I began to move my body and tried to feel the music.


A body knocked into our way, and suddenly I wasn't facing Freya anymore but a tall guy with black hair. "Sorry," he coughed out. He glared at someone before turning back and smiling at me in what he probably thought was a charming way.


I snorted and began to move away from him. "Hey wait," he said. "Do you want to dance?"


I sighed loudly and tried to find a way out from the mess of bodies. Geez, it's hot. "Go crawl back into your gutter," I said without turning around.


A hand touched my shoulder and turned me back, making me shriek in surprise. "I'm not trying to do anything," the guy said, smiling at me. "Just want to dance, that's all."


I crossed my arms defensively. "And I just want to leave."


"Oh." We awkwardly stood there in the throng of dancing bodies, looking oddly at each other. His eyes darted to the side. "Um, just one dance?" he asked unsurely.


"Who are you looking at?"


"No one!" He scratched the back of his head and began to turn away. "Er, uh, sorry..." he said dejectedly, trying to move between a couple dancing.


Maybe it was how sad he looked or maybe it was Freya making weird faces at me, but something inside me made me blurt out, "Wait!" He turned around uncertainly.


"Uh," I stammered, looking at Freya's encouraging face. "I'm a pretty bad dancer," I admitted. "I dance like a penguin."


His eyes crinkled as he chuckled. "And I'm from the gutter, apparently. We'll just make do, I guess."


I laughed a little and began to relax. "Yeah, I guess."

gooey

Sometimes I feel emotionally connected to foods.

When I am hugged, I feel squeezed like a lemon.

If someone told me something nice, I would feel warm and gooey like chocolate chip cookies.

On very hot days, I feel like a melted ice cream cone in the sun. But blisteringly cold days freeze me like a popsicle.

I can go bananas for something delicious, but if I eat too much then I could feel like a big watermelon.

Are you getting hungry too?

escape

The best escape route requires an expert disguise that no one can penetrate. For example, imagine if I were in my room by myself, doing something normal like reading a book. Suddenly, I hear a slam downstairs and strange men's voices. Naturally, my first instinct would not be to go down and offer them some tea. I would try to escape - but how?


Ah ha! I open the closet door where it appears to be a shallow room with mounds of clothes stuffed inside. I push aside all these clothes to reveal in the corner a small hole. Did you see that coming?


It's a small hole, but I'm a small girl. I go inside legs first and pull the clothes back to cover the hole. Of course I have a small flashlight in the hole waiting for me, but I have to move backwards because there is not enough room to turn all the way around.


I push along the small tunnel which curves and leads to other small tunnels. I have to trick whoever dares to enter my secret escape route, so I memorize left, right, right, right, left and slowly move around the house until finally, I am below ground. I know this because my feet feel the end of my escape route. Now how do I get out?


If the flashlight is on, I should be able to see a trap door concealed on the left on top of my head. The only way anyone would know there's a door there would be if the flashlight shined on a particular spot where I put a tiny piece of reflective tape.


I push open the trap door, and ta da! The sun is in my eyes and I am in my backyard near the tree where my dog likes to do his business. The escape route successfully leads me out of the house safely!


Let's just hope no one is waiting for me when I get out.

chimney

In this day and age, not many people use chimneys anymore, and with good reason. The dust and ash come out from the tops and pollute the clean air that people breathe, making the use of chimneys not only environmentally unfriendly but also aesthetically unpleasing. They aren't even necessary to build anymore, but some people just like the idea of having a chimney in case a big fat man in a red suit decides to jump down and give out presents. Did you ever notice he never comes though, at least not through that way? Even he knows his legendary counterpart that no one has discovered yet, and perhaps this is why the Chimney Monster (as it is called) lurks undetectable there.


In almost all the unused chimneys there lives a Chimney Monster, a dark, black shadow of a thing that is quite large but seems invisible to the eye. His skin is black and his hair is black, and his eyes are so black that they seem almost not to be there. The Chimney Monster has lived on to this day because he is so black that when people look up there chimneys, they may be staring straight into his eyes but think it is just the darkness and dirtiness of their own chimneys. Some of these monsters live up to old ages because no one uses their chimneys anymore, so they live on until another Chimney Monster crawls into the same chimney and eats the old one up. It's a dirty life for a Chimney Monster.


Most people probably don't know they have one. If you have a chimney, go check it. If you can see the bright light of the sky on the other side, then congratulations: a Chimney Monster has not yet found your chimney. But if the light is faint and hard to make out, then quickly get out from under the chimney and never look there again. The Monster will be ready the next time.