Wacky, Wonderful Weirdos by Brenda Whiteside

Looking a little wacky

Everyone likes to people watch. The people who give the most enjoyment are like those wacky weirdos that get posted on Facebook as patrons of a certain department store. Truthfully, they really exist. Some of them are just not cognizant of the way they look, but there are others who are aiming for a certain "look".

Yesterday, while shopping, I saw what might qualify for wacky weirdos but oh so wonderful. This couple brought a smile to my face and I had to give them kudos for living out their image dream. They looked to be at least in their eighties. This very thin, white  haired duo  had dressed to the hilt. I would never attempt to wear the shoes the Mrs. had on - four inch platforms. Her skintight, leopard-print knee pants were topped by a hot pink tank top under a short sleeved, black jacket. Her hair was intricately piled on her head and woven with a pink scarf. While she was reaching for wild-sheik, Mr. wanted to look the athlete. His shorts were probably made for biking. His running shoes probably cost $200. The lime green, nylon shirt was pretty cool. He missed the mark with his straw island hat, but hey, it's probably his favorite hat.

Last night, we went to a bluegrass festival. Sitting on the curb, a front row seat for the street dancing, proved to be a  hoot for people watching. A little guy about eleven or twelve in a Frank Sinatra hat, really had some moves. One family with four children was having a great time - all except for the young teen girl. Mom and Dad seemed like fun-loving, kind people although maybe Arizona's edition of hill folk. Teenager sat a few feet from them with her head buried in a hoodie.

I've written a couple of wacky characters. In Sleeping with the Lights On, Wesley is a millionaire who sleeps between cowboy print sheets, has a mansion with theme rooms and the naivety of a child. Yet is a good lover in spite of all his eccentric ways.

Bobby Stockwood is a redheaded cowboy in The Morning After. Although he's not weird, he's a bit wacky and a whole lot of wonderful. He marries Abigail in an impromptu wedding ceremony because he thoroughly believes in love at first sight.

Yep, you have to love wacky, weird people. To quote one of my favorite singers, Jimmy Buffett:

Fruitcakes in the kitchen
Fruitcakes on the street
Struttin’ naked through the crosswalk
In the middle of the week
Half-baked cookies in the oven
Half-baked people on the bus
There’s a little bit of fruitcake left in everyone of us

NOTE: I'LL BE ON THE ROAD FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS SO IF I DON'T RESPOND TO YOUR POST YOU'LL KNOW WHY!

Visit Brenda at www.brendawhiteside.com.

Or on FaceBook: www.facebook.com/BrendaWhitesideAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/brendawhitesid2

She blogs on the 9^th and 24^th of every month at http://rosesofprose.blogspot.com

She blogs about prairie life and writing at http://brendawhiteside.blogspot.com/

There's a Man In My Bed by Brenda Whiteside

The most surprising scene for my heroine, Abigail Martin, in my latest novella, The Morning After, is the first scene of my book. Poor girl wakes up with a sexy redheaded cowboy she doesn't know - or does she?

The throb behind Abigail’s eyes scraped at her temples like chiseled fingernails. She squeezed her lids tight. Was the sheet twisted around her? She patted her waist. No, it was her dress, the purple flowered sarong. One hand moved across her chest while the other slid down her hip. Strapless bra gone, no nylons. What the hell?

She inched the covers down, so her head didn’t jar, and eased her feet to the floor to sit on the edge of the bed. Last night’s mascara weighed heavily, stinging her eyes when she opened them. How disgusting. She hadn’t gone to bed without washing her face in fifteen years. With a hand to her forehead, she raised her gaze to the reflection in the full-length mirror on her closet door.

Her breath caught in her throat and Abigail froze. Another body, partially covered, came into focus behind her.

Think. The headache got in the way of last night’s memories, the strain not worth the pain. And this was exactly why she never had more than a glass of wine. A bad headache and now a strange man in her bed. Her stomach lurched.

What have I done?

And moments later:

A moan.

The man rolled to his back, kicking off covers.

Abigail gasped. Her gentleman visitor wore only a bow tie and black socks.

She crept to the edge of the bed. His face was turned away, further hidden by red curls hanging down the nape of his neck and onto his cheek. A visual sweep of the attractive body brought a smile to her face when she paused on his more than ample endowments. A true redhead. An encounter of this magnitude should be easy to remember.

Abigail smiled in spite of her throbbing temples. Inching closer, she nudged his boots aside with her foot and leaned over to see his face. Mmm. He smelled good, like rich leather and fresh cut wood. As she bent to get a closer look, Kirby, her sixteen-pound Siamese cat, entered her room and announced his hunger.

The visitor stirred, grasped her arm, drawing her down across his hips.

He rose up on his elbows and looked at her. “So, Abby, you’re a morning person, are you?”

Abigail launched off the bed, trying not to come into contact with anymore of the warm body than she already had. Tripping over the boots, she ended up sprawled on the floor. “Who…” She gulped. “Who the hell are you?”

“Who am I? “Darlin’ I know I told you, you’ve got to believe it’s true.” He paused his singing. When she sat speechless, he sang out again, slightly off key. “Real love comes along once, and that real love is you.”

“You sure as hell aren’t Lance Dugan.”

He sat upright, feet to the floor, and Abigail found herself eye level with embarrassment. With hands to her face, she pleaded in a quiet voice, mindful of her head still adjusting to sobriety.

“Please, cover yourself. You look ridiculous.”

“Why, there’s a blow to a man’s ego. I hope you mean the bow tie, darlin’, and not my prodigious

maleness.” The sheets rustled. “You can open your eyes now and greet your husband with a little more enthusiasm.”

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Visit Brenda at www.brendawhiteside.com.

Or on FaceBook: www.facebook.com/BrendaWhitesideAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/brendawhitesid2

She blogs on the 9^th and 24^th of every month at http://rosesofprose.blogspot.com

She blogs about prairie life on her personal blog http://brendawhiteside.blogspot.com/