8thdayfiction

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

Password

As Jamie climbed the stairs, she could see that the bedroom door was closed.

Not again, she thought.

She approached, grabbed the doorknob, and—sure enough—it was locked.

“Ted!” she called out while knocking. “Ted, open the door!”

“What’s the password?” Ted’s muffled voice said from the other side.

Jamie pounded the door. “Ted, seriously! Open up! I just want to—”

“Come on, what’s the password? I know you know it.”

Jamie stopped, counted to ten, sighed, and said to the door:

“Chaka Khan let me rock you
Let me rock you Chaka Khan
Let me rock you
That’s all I wanna do
Chaka Khan let me rock you
Let me rock you Chaka Khan
Let me rock you
Let me feel for you.”

A click of the lock, and the door opened; Ted was standing there grinning like an idiot. “There—now was that so hard?”

She shoved him as she walked past, but then turned to him and smiled as she said, “You’re lucky we don’t own an ax, or else I probably would’ve gone Nicholson on that door, ya dork.”

They went to bed but Jamie stayed awake for a bit, thinking of what annoying password she’d get him to say the next time she made it to the bedroom first. She was thinking the Spice Girls, but she wasn’t sure.

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4 thoughts on “Password

  1. Melissa Shirley on said:

    This is really a vignette of life in Chest Plank, isn’t it?

  2. This is a brilliant idea. I immediately started thinking of what ridiculous password I would make my poor tired spouse spit out for entry into the bedroom. Thinking if they’re REALLY TIRED: “I said a hip hop, hippie to the hippie, the hip, hip a hop, and you don’t stop, a rock it.” Or maybe ” If you want my body, and you think I’m sexy, come on sugar let me know.” Muah-ha-ha-ha-HA!!!! Or the Mmmm Bop lyrics. No, that’s borderline torture. For everyone.

    Funny vignette!

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