I Can’t See a Damn Thing in This Fog

Daily Post Prompt:    Foggy

Funnyjunk

Crystal pulled her glasses off for the third time and cleaned them. She tried lens wipes, spray, Windex, and soap and water; which left the worst film ever.

Her husband, Roger, watched impatiently from the comfort of his recliner. “What are you doing? The movie’s about to come on, and you’ve been fooling with those damn glasses for twenty minutes.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What the hell does it look like I’m doing? I’m cleaning them.”

“Looks to me like you’re rubbing a damn hole in the lens and eww.” His face wrinkled in disgust, “After everything else you’ve tried; you think your spit’s gonna do the trick?”

“I’m telling you, I can’t see! They’re all foggy and blurry. My eyes were just fine this morning.” Her shoulders drooped. “I give up; something’s wrong, Roger, I know it.” Her hands dropped to her lap. “I bet it’s a brain tumor, like moms.”

“Jesus H. Christ, Crystal; you don’t have a brain tumor.”

“I have been having more headaches lately,” she said.

Roger pushed the electric recliners up button. “Hand me the damn things, let me have a look, and stop sniffling. We’ll figure it out together.”

Crystal handed him a lens cloth and her glasses. “I could see fine this morning.”

Roger ignored the whiny, pitiful sound coming from his wife of forty years and studied the glasses. The lens sparkled, then he spotted the numbers on the temple of the glasses. He pulled himself, grunting from his favorite chair and shuffled to the other side of the house, muttering under his breath. A few minutes later, he returned. “Here, that should do it,” he said, extending the glasses to his wife.

Crystal put them on and broke out in a grin. “I can see! You fixed them!” She reached for his hand, but he’d already pushed the down button on his recliner and was moving out of reach.

She settled back on the sofa, ready for the movie, and started giggling. “And I thought it was a brain tumor.”

“More like dementia if you ask me,” Roger said, picking up the remote control.

“Well, how in the world did you fix them?”

“I didn’t; you had my reading glasses.” Roger turned up the volume loud enough for the neighbors to hear. “Now, hush, we’ve already missed the half of the movie.”

 

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Birds of Prey


PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Rochelle Wisoff Fields Friday Fictioneers

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

 

“Mommy, I’m scared. Where’s Kyle?” Her pouty lips trembled.

Her mother squeezed her daughter’s hand. “I don’t know.”

Kyle’s little sister sniffled. “I tried to find him, honest.”

“I know you did, sweetheart.”

“He’s better at hide-n-seek than I am.” Tears rolled down the child’s cheeks. “I want to go home.”

“Me too.” The woman knelt beside her daughter and pointed. “See all the birds?”

“Uh-huh.”

“They can see for miles.” Her breath caught – a bird of prey circled nearby.

The child’s eyes widened. “Are they looking for Kyle too?”

Kyle’s mother uttered a silent prayer for her son. “Maybe.”

 

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