Intaglio

This week's Fiction Friday prompt is: Without it up, use the word Intaglio in your fiction friday entry.



The doorbell rings. I peek out of my window, hoping to see the big brown UPS truck I've been waiting for the last few days. I jump up in joy when I spy the bare white legs under the tell-tale brown shorts of the driver walking briskly away. I wonder if he has a choice of shorts or pants and actually chooses the ridiculous shorts. I push that random thought out of my head to run down and get the treasure my little short-clad elf has left me.

My Intaglio is finally here. I had ordered it the first day it was available to the American market. All the articles about it, first in the Italian press, then in the American press raved about it. I couldn't wait to see it, hold it, touch it. I couldn't believe that it was mine.

My friends told me that I was crazy to spend so much money on an Italian gadget. They tried to get me to change my mind, to use the money to go on an exotic vacation, but I could not be swayed. I knew the Intaglio would change my life.

The package was satisfyingly large, but it was devoid of any flashy branding, except for its unusual midnight black color. I bent down to pick it up and had to kneel down as it was heavier than I imagined. I carried it into the house, grunting with effort, but being extremely careful not to drop my $5000 loot. I was going to be eating a lot of plain pasta dinners to help my budget recover; I didn't want to break it before it had a chance to revolutionize my life.

I grabbed the scissors from the drawer and sliced open the box. I slowly slid the shiny black machine out of its styrofoam prison and placed it triumphantly on my counter. My decrepit little kitchen was transformed by the magnificent Intaglio.

I plugged it in and grabbed the porcelain espresso cup I'd purchased just for this occasion. I easily found the drawer for the coffee beans, poured in the water, and pressed the espresso button. The Intaglio came to life with thrilling hissing noises. The gleaming computer screen next to the espresso icon flickered, and turned on, revealing the face of a gorgeous Italian man. He was my Intaglio match of the day. He flashed me a dazzling smile and his "bonjourno bella!" was crystal clear on the state of the art speakers.

My Review of Rockabye by Rebecca Woolf

Here's my review of Rockabye. I also posted this at the Dear Reader book review blog.

Rockabye: From Wild to Child, the memoir of the first two years of motherhood of party girl turned mother Rebecca Woolf is filled with pearls of wisdom. It reads like the blogs it was likely crafted from, but it flows well.
I found it particularly inspiring at the end when Woolf encourages all mothers to not use being a mother as an excuse to stifle their passions. ”Bringing a child into the world shouldn’t mean locking ourselves out of our own. Nothing will be lost on those who explore their passions limitlessly.” She exhorts all mothers to make room for their own happiness, “Happiness is the most underrated accessory to success. It is paramount to be inspired by life in order to be an inspiration to a child.” Woolf inspires without being preachy.
Woolf also does a great job of capturing a mother’s angst in finding mommy friends to bond with as well as describing her struggles with coming to terms with her son Archer’s special needs. She resents needing the help of “ists” to help him learn how to speak. She also describes some beautiful moments playing with her son. Her love for him and their special bond are palpable, a real celebration of the connection between mother and child.
Rockabye is more than a mommy memoir though. It is a also a chronicle of her developing relationship with the father of her child. She honestly and fearlessly describes their marriage as it morphs from a budding romance to sharing the burden of parenthood together.
Rockabye is a brutally honest tale that left me inspired to continue capturing my own parenting and marital experiences. I loved it, devoured it, and filled pages of my notebooks with its quotes. I give it five stars.

Sometimes It's Best to Stay in Bed

I knew I had overslept as soon as I saw how bright it was outside. I looked over at my alarm to understand why it didn't ring.
Turns out the stupid cat knocked over my water glass, again. Must be some sort of passive aggressive way of telling me to sleep less. Maybe some more therapy sessions would help. But no time to think of that, I had to focus on getting to work to avoid being fired. Thanks to the frigging cat, this would be the fifth time this month that I walked in after 9:30. Robert would not be pleased, again.

I raced out of the apartment, and yelled at Fat Norma to hold the elevator. She actually flipped me the bird and smiled evilly before the doors closed in my face. I realized that my shoelace, which I had forgotten to tie in my rush to get out the door, had made it in the elevator. I felt a strong tug on my right foot before it snapped off - breaking my new $200 Johnson and Murphy loafers.

I decided that I could not take the time to wait for the elevator, and took my chances with the stairs. It was only 15 flights, not too bad. I didn't see the banana peel until it was too late. Due to my speed, I basically took flight over the 12 steps until the next landing. I landed, hard, and could not get up. Everything hurt, my back, my legs, my arms... I was shot.

As the ambulance pulled away, I hoped that I would at least have a cast to show Robert the next time I made it in to work. Perhaps that would save my job.

This post was inspired by the Fiction Friday prompt: Sketch out a character with wildly bad luck. Make it a character you like, as we will use her again.

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Obsession

James couldn't picture the color of his wife's eyes anymore. He couldn't remember the last time he'd really looked into her eyes. Lately her eyes were fixated on one thing - the giant IMac screen in their kitchen. With its bluish glow reflected in her brown eyes, it seemed as though her eyes had morphed into a new color, like those people who get colored lenses and create unnatural looking eye color combinations.

James rued the day he'd walked into the Apple store. He'd been easily seduced by the flawless design of the IMac. He had never thought that he would describe a computer as beautiful, but there simply was no other way to describe it, and the price couldn't be beat. He never would have bought it, even if it had only cost a dollar, if he'd known it would cost him his wife.

The IMac was, as advertised, truly plug and play. It was up and running as soon as he connected the power cord. They had all gathered, drawn in by the stunning purple space screensaver. One by one, the kids had drifted off to their games, and eventually James had gotten up to go to the bathroom. Brenda had just settled in on her stool and had never left. A little while later, when he'd gotten involved with his bathroom private time, Brenda had called out to him, all excited about how clear the ebay fonts were on the new monitor. He hadn't her sound that excited in a long time, and it worried him.

Now she was up late every night, monitoring her many auctions. She bought everything on ebay now: clothing, toys, furniture, even collectibles. They'd never been collectibles people - they used to call those people freaks - and they now were the proud owners of a growing collection of creepy bobble head figurines.

Brenda, who had always prided herself on being a supermom, barely noticed the kids. She only bathed them when they complained of being itchy or in pain. She threw in frozen waffles for breakfast and frozen chicken nuggets for lunch and dinner. She forgot to brush their hair and sign their permission slips. Although Brenda was still living with them, still physically his wife and their mother, she had mentally checked out of their lives.

James had tried speaking to her - at first nicely, then angrily, and finally with utter desperation. Nothing got through to her. She reacted with the least amount of word possible, and turned back to her screen. Now he was out of options, he opened the door to the highest bidder and helped him carry the IMac out to his car. James would miss having a computer, but he missed Brenda more.