“Oh, bee barf…?”
“Stop calling me that!”
“Why?” I smile knowingly.
“Because it’s an insult!”
“Not to me.” my standard response.
A decade plus later…
“All this damned time you’ve been calling me honey?” His mouth ajar.
“Yes, bee barf.”
Stupid Internet ruined everything…
A memory of the day my late-husband learned something of a sticky situation…
Today’s Quadrille (a poem of 44 words: no more, no less – not including the title) has to include the word jar. A word that can find many uses, as a noun or, as I’ve chosen to do, a verb (with or without an object).