The Adventures of KJ & The Dreamy Giraffe

What IF?

Illustration Friday

07/20/07

This week's topic is: Poem

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Fairy Tale

(a prose poem)

by

Kathy Jeffords

(that's me)

                                       

                A couple dances beneath the moon.

               

                There was once a story, handed down from generation to generation, of a warted and wet-skinned toad, who, upon being touched by the lips of a beautiful young girl, morphed into a prince.

                     

                These people are those people.

                   

                She is yellow-haired and ivory-skinned with sapphire eyes and cheeks as pink as cotton candy and he is now tall and dark and handsome.

               

Though he has lost his warts and wet skin, he still occasionally ribbits at the most inappropriate times, such as when they dine with her father and wicked stepmother.  The sound escapes him and he glances at his fork, wondering why he is using silverware and eating roast pork instead of just snapping his tongue out to catch a fly.  Meanwhile, she, his savior turned wife, the breaker of curses and washer of dishes, apologizes for his rudeness. 

                           

She adores him because in marrying her, he made her a princess.  She adores him because she has always been hell-bent on getting a happily ever after and he gave her this, which is close enough. He reciprocates her adoration because she sped up his evolution, transforming him from a frog to a man in two seconds flat.

                            

And he does not kid himself: her feather bed is much softer than his lily pad ever was.

               

And, now, they dance beneath the moon.  More often than not, they waltz.  If she’s in the mood, they cha-cha.  Sometimes, they just sway in the pale light.

                  

                “Stop dancing beneath me.” the moon says night after night.

                  

                “Did you hear something?” asks the prince.

                   

                “The only sound in my ears,” replies the now-princess. “Is our two hearts, beating as one.”

                        

                The moon shakes his big round head sadly at these silly fools.

THE END

KJ's Second Sunday Scribblings

• Sunday Scribblings 
• Prompt #69: Wicked
• {It's fiction, of the untitled, unfinished variety. }
• {This is Part II.   Part I is here.  If you haven't already, go read it first, or you'll be like, "Huh?"}
• We now join Carole Tenley (Green?!) & her family & friends, already in progress...

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July 15th, 2007

6:41 P.M.

The Tenley (Green?!) Upstairs Bathroom

                                       

I sat horizontally in the claw-footed bathtub, schlumped way down, my head resting somewhat awkwardly against one side of the tub and my legs dangling over the other.  My legs, which (as I'm sure my nearest and dearest would be mortified to know I freely admit) had not been shaved in so long I cannot tell you when the last time I shaved them was and were now not only hairy, but green!hairy.  Neon!green!hairy.   I know you're thinking:  Eeew, gross.  And probably also: ?????  And to answer those questions: 1) My armpits DO get the razor treatment regularly and were free of hairs, green, neon, and otherwise & 2) ABSOLUTELY NONE of your business, nosy britches.

Adventure #66: DearEST Kaylee

Dearest* Kaylee,

This week, you are 22 months old.  When the above picture was taken, you weren't even a full day old.

I've been saying and saying and saying I wanted to start (& keep) a Comprehensive List of Cute Things Kaylee Does since, well, since you started doing cute things, which I'm pretty sure was about three and a half seconds after you were born.  Wait, no.  I DO remember you once kicking my hand through your Mommy's tummy, and that was VERY cute, so I guess I should've started the listmaking even before your birth.

Here is some of the most recent cuteness:

You like to talk to the baby in the door.  This is not new a thing.  But now, when the door is closed, and you can't talk to the baby in the door, because the baby in the door is on the other side of the door, you'll grab the doorknob and say, "See the baby!" You've also begun asking the baby in the door, "Baby, are you oh-KAY?"  And you don't even get upset with the baby when the baby doesn't answer you.

Adventure #65: The Dreamy Giraffe Story Hour

             

Meet Carissa & Sherman.  They both loooooooooooooooooove to read.

Adventure #64: Are You There God? It's Me, KJ.

Dear Whoever's Reading This,

Of course, the title of the post is a play on the Judy Blume book, "Are You There God?  It's Me, Margaret."  But I had to change it up a little because, well, um, because my name isn't Margaret.

KJ's First Sunday Scribblings

• Sunday Scribblings
• Prompt #68: Hair
• {It's fiction, of the untitled, unfinished variety.}

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I found it on the morning of my 40th birthday, right there, front and center, amongst my bangs, as if it, you know, belonged there.  The only difference being that while the rest of the individual bang!hairs mixed & mingled, demurely blending in, this one stood out, demanding attention.  It might has well have been shouting, "Look at me, look at me!"

Adventure #63, Part 2: KJ is Blind as a Bat & Playing Possum

Dear Peeps:

Here is the deal:

• I had some problems with my left eye
• and couldn't wear my contacts.  For almost a whole week.
• So I had to wear my glasses.  I NEVER wear my glasses because
• they're about three years old and my eyesight has gotten a lot worse since then and
• the itty bitty frames are too small for my big ol' head and I can see over the top and around the sides of the lenses, which is not an optimal glasses-wearing situation.
• Therefore, I really was sort of visually impaired, so
• When Muffin did her daily bringing-home-of-some-critter-in-various-states-of-aliveness, assessing the situation from about ten feet away, I thought that her new playmate was a dead bird, but it was actually an undead baby possum.
• And baby possums are actually quite good at pretending they are dead when they are really alive and kickin'.
• I saved him from Muffin's not-evil-really-but-misguided clutches and he was grateful.
• Muffin, not so grateful, pouted, but the next day, the possum was replaced by a mole, and all was forgiven and forgotten (until I also saved the mole).
• My left eyeball didn't fall out.
• I'm back in my contacts (or my contacts are back in me?).
• Blah blah blah.
• I don't think, even when I'm a hundred years old, I'll stop having anxiety dreams in which I've missed so many days of school, I don't remember where my classes are, or what they are, and I'm going to flunk out and not graduate.

An Official High School Graduate Since 1995,

KJ

P.S. Did you know that possums keep baby possums in a pouch in their belly?  I bet you didn't.  And, no, I'm not mixing kangaroos and possums up.  Though, if I can mix birds and possums up, I guess that mix-up would be possible as well.

Adventure #63, Part 1: Tathy Eats The Ice Cream All Gone

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Pre-Adventure Warning:  Don't read this adventure if you're lactose intolerant (as the temptation may be too great and I don't want to be responsbile for any allergic reactions or digestive system rebellion) OR if you experience twitches of irritation when people gush about cute things their kid or sister's kid or some kid they're not related to but have seen on television once or twice did today, or yesterday, or fifteen years ago.           ____________________________________________________________________________

Dear Everyone,

Okay, you guys are going to love me and send me thank you notes, for telling you about this ice cream.

Well, you'll love me and send me thank you notes UNTIL the morning you wake up and none of the clothes in your closet fit anymore and you have to either fashion a toga dress out of your bedsheets or go to work in your undies, which are probably very tight but still wearable (thanks, elastic!).

First, just let me state that I have not been hired as Breyer's newest spokeschick, nor am I receiving any kind of monetary or free product as payment for this endorsement (though I'll gladly edit this disclaimer if any lovely person with connections decides to express their gratitude & hook me up).

Pre-Adventure Terms & Conditions

Friends, Romans, Dreamers, Giraffes & Adventurers, lend me your ears:

Okie dokie, before embarking on any adventure contained herein, you must agree that neither KJ and/or The Dreamy Giraffe and/or anyone affiliated, related or associated with either of the aforementioned parties are responsible for any eyestrain you may experience due to embarking on any adventure contained herein.

KJ is so.extremely.wordy and has been officially diagnosed with incureable keyboard diarrhea.  Therefore, each and every adventure will probably go on about ten paragraphs past the point where any normal blogger would write "The End".   If you attempt to read any adventure in its entirety (approximately 28097987232 words) in one sitting and have to get some of those non-perscription reading glasses from Wal-Mart as a result, that's all on you, kid. 

Also, you must be at least as tall as that sign over there to ride.   Buckle in, watch your hands and feet, and enjoy.

Adventure #62: TDG Introduces You To The Sport of Tomato Tennis

       

This is Courtney White,  and the color she wears almost every single day is white -- not because it's her last name, but because it's her favorite color.

However, this did not go over well with her peer group, who thought she was rather lame.  She was, of course, at the time, smack in the middle of the 13 -18 age demographic, you know, the Teenage Years, the years where one teeny tiny mistake can label you uncool 'til you head off to college.