…and on the 8th day, micro fiction was published on some dude's blog.

The Wager of Wings With Beth

The forecast called for freezing rain.

Of course it did. Today was the day he had to pay up for losing their bet.

As they walked towards Market Square, Beth was giddy. She had won the bet, for one thing, and Jon’s humiliation was imminent, for another.

“You could be a little less happy about this. It’s freezing. I could get pneumonia. And die. Because of what’s about to go down,” Jon said, tugging through his coat at the top that was riding up on him.

Beth was bursting. “The key word is ‘could’. I could be a little less happy about this, but I choose not to be less happy. I choose more. Happy.”

“I still can’t believe you ate more Atomic Wings than me. I never expected that from you. I mean, you’re—”

“What? A girl?”

“No. That’s not what I meant.” (It actually was kind of what he meant).

“Whatever. Hey, we’re here. Let’s do this.”

And right on cue, the freezing rain started. Jon pulled off his hat to reveal hair pulled tight into pigtails. He ripped off his breakaway warm-up pants to reveal the Bedazzled Richard Simmons Bermuda shorts underneath, then unbuttoned and removed his coat to reveal Beth’s hot pink bikini top stretched awkwardly over his chest.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Jon sighed as the freezing rain needled his mostly bare torso. He wasn’t forgetting; he was hoping she’d forget. He bent over and pulled a small, beat up pom-pom out of each of his coat pockets.

Beth readied her video camera. “OK, like we rehearsed it.”

In spite of the rain, a small crowd had gathered in the middle of the square to witness Jon perform the cheer Beth had written and choreographed for him:

“Firecracker! Firecracker! Sis-boom-BAH!
 Beth ate more wings than me! RAH-RAH-RAH!”

Jon theatrically bowed as the crowd clapped. One guy loudly whistled.

“OK, get dressed already. You’re embarrassing me,” said Beth as the whistling guy stuffed a dollar bill into the waistband of Jon’s shorts on his way to someplace dry. “Let’s warm up somewhere.”

“Sounds good. Where?” said Jon as he snapped his pants back together.

He looked up at Beth; she was beaming. He knew what she was thinking.

“If you say ‘How about some wings?’, I may have to kill you, you know.” He smiled at her and immediately warmed up.

She was a keeper. He just had to remember: NO MORE WAGERS.


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6 thoughts on “The Wager of Wings With Beth

  1. Loved the last paragraph! Such a tidy way to make it all great and fun!

  2. You had me at “Bedazzled Richard Simmons Bermuda shorts.” Really nice snapshot here. Kinda reads like a movie scene.

  3. Yeah, I mean the only thing I could even think of that could top Sweatin’ To the Oldies in rhinestone studded swimwear is having this tattoo on your calf while you dance off those extra pounds: http://bit.ly/zNzjb2 But that’s almost being greedy.

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