Nebulous Mooch

Inkwell is having a fiction contest and I have to put the first part of the story here and link back to the story on their blog. If you want to read the whole story check out the comments in this post about the contest. Here’s the first paragraph.

How could she have known that simply crossing the street would mean so much? Grace was simply trying to stay dry when she dashed across Vine Street to the cover of the green awning jutting out over the outside produce display at the local grocer’s. She was standing in front of the melons fishing through her large black bag for the umbrella she swore was in there somewhere when she felt a jarring force hit her hip. She steadied herself and looked down to find the source…

The other day I saw a man using a canister vacuum cleaner–you know the kind with the hose and attachments–to clean the grass clippings off his front walk. It wasn’t the fact that he was using a vacuum cleaner to do this that was seemed so strange to me. It was the fact that he was using the little narrow attachment you use to vaccum corner and inbetween seat cushions that made the scene so funny. I wonder how long it took him. I wonder what his wife said when she found out.

I’ve had a backache for the past week. It started on Saturday. Being the worrier that I am, by the time Thursday rolled around I’d convinced myself that I had a tumor and would be dead by Monday. I spent Thursday night planning my funeral and writing my eulogy. I think I’m a pretty good writer and could come up with a eulogy that would have even the most stoic person sobbing and falling out in the isle of the funeral home be-wroth with grief.

In the mist of this pity party my husband had a great idea. “If it hurts so bad, why don’t you go to the doctor?”

I’m so used to not being able to go to the doctor that I’d forgotten I could now. So I got up bright and early the next morning and made a doctor’s appointment.

The doctor was a nice stout man with a small voice. After having me do some stretches to rule out muscle strain and testing my pee to make sure it wasn’t a kidney infection, he palpated my abdomen and said, “It seems like you constipated.” He told me to get some laxatives and sent me on my way.

I couldn’t believe it. What? Constipated. You’ve got to be kidding me! I thought. No tumor. No exploding ovary. This is what I get from the NHS. Constipated! I was outraged.

After much ranting and complaining about the doctor obviously not knowing what he was talking about, I drank some prune juice and let’s just say that my back pain has gone away.