She sat across from him at their Thursday evening dinner, eyes darting up at him then down at her plate repeatedly back and forth, "You going to eat that last piece of broccoli?"

Not looking up from his plate, he responded, "Ya, I had planned on it.  Why?"

"Oh, no reason.  Just curious.  Didn't want it to go to waste is all."

"Why would it go to waste?  I haven't finished even half of my plate yet."

"Okay, I'm sorry.  I was just curious, I don't know."  She rested her chin on her hand, with her elbow resting on the table.  She gazed out at the wind blown landscape outside, certain that something out there would be more entertaining than her dinner company.  Across the street, there was an old woman wearing a raggedy old purple shawl.  Long grayish, brownish hair to her waist collected in what looked like a braid that was done several weeks ago.  A black beanie atop her head.  She was sorting through the trash can, pulling out aluminum cans and placing them in a separate bag.  

Still gazing out the window, she asked half-heartedly, "What kind of a life would that be?  Homeless and digging through city trash cans for coke cans to recycle."  She turned to him, suddenly excited with her eyes wide, "She's recycling!  A homeless woman is recycling.  Do you see that?  HOMELESS?  Why do you refuse to recycle?"

"What are you talking about?"  He rolled his baked potato over.

"That old woman outside," she pointed across the street.  "Don't you see her?"

"Whoever she is, she's probably just collecting cans so that she can get some change piled up to find her next drink.  If you think about it, me not recycling is kind of giving that woman a second chance.  If I had recycled my discarded cans instead of throwing them in the trash, she would have nothing to fish out of the trash to turn in to get change for booze or whatever else she wants with it."

"What if she is trying to do her part to save the Earth?  How do you know she isn't just being noble?"

"Nobility when you're homeless is like a brand new Britney Spears album laying in the gutter...it doesn't matter.  The sooner you learn to live in the real world the sooner you'll stop getting riled up about homeless people and their feelings.  If you care about them so much, invite them over to your place to stay for the night.  See how that goes."  He took a deep bite of his bread.

She looked at him fighting back tears.  These are her homeless people tears that she has from time to time.  But something makes her feel that it's not just the homeless people that make her sad.  She looks at her half eaten salad.  She isn't hungry anymore, but she finishes it anyway.  She can't legitimize leaving food at a restaurant when that woman outside doesn't have the option of leaving behind fancy spinach salad with fruit in it and funny smelling cheese and candied nuts.  She would have brought it to her, but bringing anyone a half eaten dish seemed rude.  Even if they are starving. 

"Why did you eat that when you didn't want it?"  He finally looks up at her.

"What makes you think I didn't want it?  I ate it didn't I?" her tone of arrogance striking weak. 

"I know you didn't want it because whenever we see homeless people while we're eating, you get upset, don't want to eat anymore, but stuff yourself anyway because you would feel guilty leaving an empty plate ALL because of the homeless encounter.  I know you, Lisa."  He rested his chin on his knuckles, leaning forward toward her.  A gleam in his eye. "These Thursday night dinners were your idea originally, but I feel like I'm getting more out of them now than you are.  You just get upset every time you see a homeless person, or whenever you think I'm not paying enough attention to you.  That's pretty much every time we go out.  You can't walk down the street in the city without being within spitting distance of a homeless person.  And i pay attention to you more than you think."  Tears began to roll down her face.  "Don't you know that I see you?  I always see you."  He turns and looks out the window at the woman.  She turns and looks too.  The old woman abandons her trash can to move to the next one down the street.

He turns back to her "I'll get the check this time.  Where to next week?"

More responses to  Prompt #328: strategic response see http://easystreetprompts.blogspot.com/2008/10/prompt-328-strategic-response.html

Seems to me that when folks are asked the question, "If you could live in any time, what time would you live in?"  They always seem to pick the past.  I mean, if you could live in anytime, the future is also a viable answer and we haven't made any mistakes there yet.  Why would you not want to go where everything is still pristine and untouched?  Clean slate.  Better yet, assuming that you take advantage of the question for all that it might have to offer, you could in essence make up your own time.  Like Einstein.  (See Einstein's Dreams)  Here you could use your basic modern knowledge of physics, biology, chemistry, etc. to fabricate a world where amazing things are possible even if you still get the short end of the stick.

Most women seem to want to go back to the Middle Ages, aka the Dark Ages, because of the pretty dresses they would get to wear.

  Yes, it's because of the dresses.  The only problem I see with wanting to return to an age whose title(s) is devoted to the nothingness cast about by a widespread, several-hundred-year illiteracy is that the illiteracy is the least of your worries.  The rampant disease might end up occupying more of your time than the dresses and well, you've probably got it.  Lord knows you aren't wasting time reading.  But at least you get to wear a pretty dress.

I cannot ignore chivalry which also made this period famous.  And nobody appreciates a chivalrous man more than myself but it is the intentions I still question.  In order to be somewhat respectable as a woman in such an era, you must be a true maiden until the day you wed.  How can anyone, no matter what the era, think clearly if you're being heavily courted when you haven't been able to release that sexual tension somehow.  Then again, marriage then wasn't like marriage today.  You were lucky to live past giving birth to your fifth child, of which you were expected to have at least 12.  So not to worry, I guess.  You probably won't be stuck in your worthless marriage for more than 10 years anyway.  You'd probably die before then.  But until that time, you get to wear a pretty dress.

I also believe both the black plague and the bubonic plague took strong grasp during this period and those are just the diseases that killed 1/4 of the world's population.  Don't quote me on those numbers.  What about the other diseases that just made you smelly, deformed, sterile...of course that might be an effect you'd look forward to considering my last point.  Birth control wasn't created yet despite the fact that rape was not just 'discovered' but common in Medieval times.  Despite all of that, you still get to wear a pretty dress.

Now that I have thoroughly offended all of the women who have made it this far in this post, I will share the time that I would like to live in.  The answer is here:  http://www.nozen.com/clock.htm

I can wear a pretty dress here, too.

To see more responses to Prompt #132 If I Had To Live In Another Time go to Sunday Scribbles http://sundayscribblings.blogspot.com/

She knows it'll never end: the torture. The complete agony that no child of seven should ever have to endure. The physical yearning that makes even the most devout believers doubtful. And at Christmas, no less! She tried to get her mind off it by walking their teacup terrier. But all she could think was that it was cold outside and she knew of something that would comfort her the minute she walked back in the door. She tried a bath, but she felt like a sweet little something was missing. She even tried cleaning her room but all she could think of was that the only incentive that could make it worth her while was forbidden.

"Don't even think about it, little girl. I can see you eyeing that candy bowl. You think I'm blind? That's for company, not for little girls who get too much candy as it is."

Standing there in her green and red flannel Christmas dress that she would wear to church if she went to church, she turned from her mother back to the crystal clear, gilded, glimmering bowl full of Christmas-colored after dinner mints.

She didn't even pretend to plead her case with her mother. She knew she wasn't allowed to have any more mints after she finished the last two bags her mother bought two days ago for the various company they have during the Christmas holidays.

Seeing her daughter's obvious internal struggle, the mother spoke to her child sympathetically, "It'll help if you don't stand there staring at it, ya know."

But the little girl knew better, she had tried. There was no point in trying to reason with her. Her mother would never understand that when most people need air, she needed sugar. When most longed for a Romeo, she longed for a Romeo who was old enough to drive to the store and buy her a snickers bar, or rollos, or M&M's. There are always so many options at the grocery store.

She neither loved nor feared anything more than aisle 12 at her local Kroger: the candy aisle. It was the best aisle that store had. It changed for the holidays but still always had all the old favorites. It was 20 yards of solutions to every problem she could ever have. It was the first drug she to which she would form an addiction.

"Don't you remember the last few Halloweens?  You have eaten everything in your bag Halloween night then felt sick for the next two days the last two years running.  I'm sure you don't want that to happen again."  Her mother always brings up this story to prove her tendency to go 'overboard' with candy.  It never helps.  It just upsets her because technically the story is false. 

"Mom, I have never eaten all of my candy.  I usually leave out the little bits of candy that really aren't that good to trade with kids during lunch.  You know, the little strangely flavored tootsie rolls that some of the neighbors get because they are being too cheap to get chocolate?"

"Oh, yes, I forgot.  I have the only child in existence who puts a hierarchy on candy.  My little candy racist."  her mother cooed condescendingly. 

"You know what, mom!  If you care so much about my problem, why do we have candy in the house at all?  It's not fair!"  the little girl pouted and ran off to her room, slamming the door.

"That," said the mother to herself, "is a damned good question," as she took a generous handful of the Christmas-colored after dinner mints and shoved them into her mouth.

To see more responses to Prompt #131 FORBIDDEN go to Sunday Scribbles http://sundayscribblings.blogspot.com/