Manicure

When my son Austin was seven, he asked me one day “Could I have a manicure, please?”

“Do you know what a manicure is?” I asked, remaining calm.

“Yeah. I mean yes.”

“So what is it?”

“It’s when you trim and clean up your fingernails and stuff to make ’em look fancy.”

“That’s right. But why do you, personally, want them to look fancy?”

“I just feel like it. So could I have one, please, Mom?”

“Well, now, let’s say you did have one. Do you like playing with your friends?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then you couldn’t play with them anymore, because you might get your fingernails dirty and ruin the manicure you just had.”

“I won’t get them dirty, Mom. I promise.”

“Are you sure about that, Austin? Think hard.”

He did just that, for a few moments.

“So, do you still want a manicure?” I asked.

“I guess not,” he replied.

“You made the right choice. Now you can continue to have fun with your friends.”

“Uh-huh.”

He never asked for a manicure again. Of course, he still became a homosexual years later, but at least his house now has wonderful landscaping. I don’t know if that has anything to do with homosexuality, but still, he does all the landscaping himself. Even my priest likes Austin’s angular hedges.

Copyright © 2016 by David V. Matthews

Advertisements

Flash fiction (a hundred words or fewer) #11: In the Aeroplane under the Sea

As the aeroplane started sinking into the Pacific Ocean, Mr Tindall realised, while sitting with his fellow evacuees in the inflatable lifeboat, that (in that prehistoric era before cloud computing) he had saved the only copy of his six-hundred-page erotic time-travelling alien zombie novel inside the laptop he had stored inside the carry-on bag he had neglected to retrieve in the commotion after the sudden and somewhat rough water landing.  ‘Oh bugger,’ Mr Tindall said more loudly to himself than he’d intended, drawing the attention of a few evacuees; for authors such as he, true literary inspiration rarely struck twice.

Copyright © 2016 by David V. Matthews

Flash fiction (a hundred words or fewer) #10: Benza

I work in a corporate hellhole—so much for that Master of Library Science Degree I’m still paying off ten years after graduating.  A lot of my coworkers rag on non-Americans and teeter on poverty’s edge and support Trump, because Republicanism equals livin’ large and kickin’ ass.  In undergrad school, I would sometimes attend parties as my Eurotrash alter ego Jacques Benza, ripping on drunken preppies: “I like ze Bud Light, ze bevvaridge for real men, no?”

Everyone loved him.  A little Benza would improve my office; too bad my sense of humor has vanished.  Benza: the next generation, no?

Copyright © 2016 by David V. Matthews

Flash fiction (a hundred words or fewer) #9: The Mechanical Bull

In 1991, my college-freshman stupidity almost reached epic heights at the redneck bar, when I drunkenly accepted a fifty-dollar bet from some guy to ride the mechanical bull at top speed for half a minute.  Which I did.  Then I got off and puked all over the blonde sexpot I’d had my eye on all night. “Don’t drink and ride!” I shouted to everyone’s amusement (but not hers). Then my college-freshman stupidity definitely reached epic heights when I—no, sorry, too incriminating, ha ha ha.  Seriously, I haven’t achieved untouchable, grand-old-man status at my job just yet.  But maybe someday.

Copyright © 2016 by David V. Matthews

 

 

Site unseen? I hope not!

DVM holding meltdown book 2015 detail

Yes, I’ve finally entered the Twentieth Century by starting a website named after myself.  I realize websites have long grown ubiquitous (you can’t spell “common” without “com,” after all), but I hope this one adds something more individualistic to cyberspace than the 95,475,203,405,137th Batman-slapping-Robin meme.  This site will feature my writing and art; detailed accounts of my escapades; information about the book Meltdown in the Cereal Aisle and the documentary Aspie Seeks Love; and the requisite quirkiness.  Have a swell time here!