Welcome Dear Readers. It’s time for the 333-Word Trifecta Wriring Challenge. This week’s prompt word is the third definition of the word: BAND 3: to gather together : unite -
“Since the accident down at the strawberry processing plant, Beamer Bankwater was terrified of one thing and one thing only. Jam! Jam was the Achilles to his heel, the nightmare to his Elm Street, the Moby to his . . .”
“George! Stop writing that stupid novel of yours and come help me! Mother will be here any minute! I need you to take the muffins out of the oven!
“Why can’t you?”
“What? How can you even ask such a thing George! Can’t you see I’m trying to get Taffy dressed in her tiara and tutu before Mother gets here? Oh stop fussing so Taffy, be a good doggie now! The muffins, George, please, they’ll burn.”
“Oh so what if they do burn, you’re mother will just feed them to that stupid poodle of hers.”
“What did you say George?
“Just talking to myself.”
“Well, I hope you won’t talk to yourself when Mother’s here. She already thinks you’re a weirdo, you know!” Margaret struggled with tying Taffy’s tutu.
George took the muffins out of the oven and rummaged around the kitchen until he found . . . Ah! There it was!
Then, inspired by the thought of Margaret’s mother, smiled to himself as he arranged the muffins into a neat little swastika before setting them on the coffee table along with a dish of strawberry jam.
Margaret’s mother sat stiffly on the sofa – taking a muffin and some jam and pretending not to notice the swastika. “And what is it you’re attempting to write about his time, George?” She broke off little pieces of her muffin and fed them to the Versace-clad poodle at her side.
“Jam.” Margaret’s mother turned to her daughter. “And for this I went through the pain of childbirth. So you could grow up and marry Mr. Jam, here.”
Margaret’s mother’s poodle growled.
Margaret’s mother scowled.
But George just sat there smiling and patiently waited for the rat-poison and the jam to band together.
Until next time . . . I love you