Oh, Dear Readers,
Are are you in for a treat! Mishka Jenkins has come up with something spectacular!
The Romance Writers Weekly authors are all writing a Flash Fiction Love Letter, and I have to include the words sweet, pumpkin, and brush.
I hope you found your way here from J.J Devine’s blog.
Okay, here goes!
~ ~ ~
My Darling Pigsnie,
I’m so very full of burning love for you, my heart fairly aches, though it’s possible the
triple shot pumpkin spice mocha and pickle and pastrami sandwich with jalapenos and onions I inhaled during my coffee break might have given me a bit of heartburn.
I never thought the day would come that I’d crave and adore anything more than Cadbury
Milk Chocolate, but compared to your sweet kisses, that confection is as bitter as a mouthful of powdered aspirin.
I know, because I took some headache powders once, and I had to brush my tongue for five minutes to rid the organ of the foul taste.
I’m not sure if the aspirin or all that brushing caused it, but my tongue swelled up the size of small mattress, and I had to be rushed to the emergency room.
The doctors were able to resuscitate me, and thank God they did for if they hadn’t, I’d be dead and never have met you at The Piggly Wiggly.
Oh, Piggles, my thoughts are consumed with you, your smell, your taste, your impossibly brown eyes, darker than sixty percent cocoa, and of course your . . . cooking.
One whiff of your haggis and my bones turn to jelly.
Well, not really, because that would be kind of gross and creepy; sort of like one of those disgusting blobfish.
Trust me, no man wants to snuggle with one of those cold, slimy things or kiss those revolting lips. And don’t get me going on the smell . . .
Trust me, no man wants to snuggle with one of those cold, slimy things or kiss those revolting lips. And don’t get me going on the smell . . .
Pigsters, never before have a man and a woman known such passion, such overwhelming joy. Each moment I’m away from you, I’m incomplete and only half-function as a human being, which is probably why I ran over that warehouse worker with the forklift today.
Don’t worry My Little Pork Chop, it was scarcely more than a brush.
Just one of his legs is broken, and my boss is only suspending me without pay for two weeks for dropping the bale of cotton on his Corvette. Mr. Bacon can still drive the car. The driver’s side roof is hardly smashed in at all.
Just one of his legs is broken, and my boss is only suspending me without pay for two weeks for dropping the bale of cotton on his Corvette. Mr. Bacon can still drive the car. The driver’s side roof is hardly smashed in at all.
Always remember, Sausage Roll, how much I love you.
Uh oh, got to run.
I forgot to set the brake on my truck, and it just plowed into the supervisor’s office.
Yours forever,
Hamish
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Now let’s head over to Carolyn Spear’s and see what her letter says.
All images are Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
