Biff and Mary: Chapter Fifteen

Welcome to another installment of Biff and Mary!  

Today's episode is brought to you by alliteration, autonomous body parts, unnecessary descriptions and a few common phrases I seem to see in nearly every book I've read lately (if you know which ones I mean and find them in the chapter, let me know in the comments!)

Those of you who have read the previous chapters (just click the Biff and Mary tab, above, if you'd like to review) will recall that we last left our lovely couple in the doorway at Mary's house, with Mary embracing a strange man, leaving poor Biff stunned and stymied...

Chapter Fifteen: In Which Biff Becomes Excessively Envious

Biff stood silently behind Mary, in an uncomfortable quandary, wondering if he should interrupt her embrace of the unknown man or sustain his stoic nonchalant stance. As he frowned at the affectionate display in the doorway, a sparkle outside drew his attention and he gazed over Phillipe’s red Robert Graham garrison sport shirt-clad shoulder at the car parked at the end of the drive. It was a BMW 1 Series Sport Edition Convertible in Carbon Black metallic paint finish with 18” M light alloy V-spoke wheels, adaptive Xenon headlights, shiny chrome accents and tailpipe and polished black vertical bars in the distinctive kidney grille. The slowly setting sun caused the BMW’s shadow to hover ominously over Biff’s practical Prius, which – as he saw now – really needed to be washed, dried, and buffed to a proper shine, though it would likely never have the perfectly polished presence of Phillipe’s vehicle.

Biff sighed and his eyes moved away from the driveway drama, only to find that the Phillipe/Mary embrace disturbingly continued. Just as Biff was reaching out to poke a proprietary pinkie on Phillipe’s admirably clothed arm, Mary finally drew back and away, though her smile was wide and bright and not directed at Biff at all.

“Oh, Phillipe! I can’t believe you’re here!  How did you ever know where to find me?” Mary bubbled as she ignored Biff.

Phillipe flipped his medium-length brown-with-reddish-highlights hair back out of his chocolate brown eyes and flashed Mary a stunningly spectacular grin.

“I stopped by your parents’ place, and your mother was very accommodating with your address, so I jumped in the Beamer and headed straight for Loversville!”

“But, but I thought you were in Paris until fall!”

Phillipe’s eyes rolled heavenward with exhausted ennui. “Paris simply bored me, Mary. One can take only so many parties and fashion shows and yachts, after all. So, here I am! Back to see my lovely Mary!” Phillipe grasped Mary’s lightly tanned and toned arms and pulled her in for yet another enthusiastic embrace.

His “lovely Mary”??  Biff’s eyes widened and his fists clenched in an unfamiliar way as he was filled with a new, incomprehensible emotion.  He panicked as he felt his heartbeat increase to a disturbing cadence and the depth of his frown threatened to crease the Revlon Cover-me-Up in Fair Maiden Ivory concealer he’d applied to the stubborn behemoth of blemish on his forehead. His lungs filled and refilled with air at a much faster than normal pace and he began to feel rather faint as he stared ineffectually at his lovely Mary in this insolent intruder’s arms.  He felt beads of moisture on his brow, and after thinking about it for a moment he realized it must be sweat – something he’d heard of but never experienced, of course, as sweating was simply not done in his circles. A sense of shame as well as fear began to join the other unknown emotion that caused his rapid breathing and clenched fists as he surreptitiously swiped his sleeve across his seriously sweaty brow.

 Just when he felt he may explode in some inexplicable but likely meaningful way, Mary drew away from Phillipe once more.  As her mouth opened to speak, a shrill series of yelps echoed from beyond the kitchen.

“Oh! Poor Poopsie!” Mary exclaimed, running toward the back door. “I’m coming, sweetiekins!”

For a swift but seemingly interminable moment, Biff was left staring at Phillipe, begrudgingly admiring the Robert Graham shirt and the beige Cutter & Buck twill pants as well as the hickory shade of his Ferragamo Sabatino driving shoes and the Versace sunglasses that hung haphazardly out of his shirt pocket. As his breathing began to return to normal, he looked up only to find Phillipe’s gaze on his own shoes. 

The mutual assessment was interrupted by a rocketing ball of pink fur and tiny snapping maw, as Poopsie barreled into the room. Having been on the receiving end of Poopsie’s protective nature, Biff’s feet took an instinctive step backward.

Phillipe, meanwhile, stooped down and caught the ricocheting puffball in mid-bark.

“Hey! This can’t be little Poopsie, can it?” he said as he gathered the previously-problematic pup against his chest. “Last time I saw you, you had to be at least two ounces lighter and a lovely shade of lilac.” He turned to Mary. “You simply must tell me who her stylist is. They’ve done a wonderful job and I’ve been looking for a new one for my Lhasa, Lawrence.”

“Oh, I bring her to Penny at Paulette’s Pampered Pooch Emporium on the corner of Pearl and Pickwick. They let you pick from plenty of powdery pastels! Lawrence would look lovely in a light lilac, I’m sure!”

Momentarily ignoring the dog stylist discussion, Biff felt his mouth drop open in shock as Poopsie sniffed Phillipe delicately, and then her little pink tongue reached out and licked his hand, tail wagging in apparent friendly recognition. Biff looked down at his bandage-bearing thumb, which still throbbed slightly from Poopsie’s earlier attack, then felt his scowl deepen as he turned toward Mary.

Mary was smiling a blinding, larger than ever, dazzling Crest White Strips smile as she gazed adoringly at…at Phillipe!

“Oh Phillipe, it is SO wonderful to see you again!” she gushed, seeming to forget about Biff entirely.

Biff forced a polite but firm “ahem” from his throat, causing all three to turn their attention his way. Poopsie began growling menacingly.

“Oh good heavens!” Mary exclaimed. “How could I be so rude!”  She took a step toward Biff and grasped his arm. “Phillipe, I’d like you to meet my beau, Biff!”

Phillipe gave Biff another assessing look before he shifted Poopsie in his arms and his free hand reached out in a seemingly friendly way.  He grasped Biff’s hand firmly. “Good to meet you.”

“Same,” Biff said, unable to force himself to friendliness.

“Biff,” Mary addressed him – finally! “This is Phillipe Jean-Paul Boutonniere the Third, of the Boston Boutonnieres, so well-known for their baby bunting and bauble businesses in both Boston and Baltimore, of course. He and I were…er…good friends back home.”

Biff nodded, regaining enough composure to possessively place his hand over Mary’s as it rested on his arm. He smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Phillipe carefully placed Poopsie on the floor and she sauntered off to her pillow in the living area, pausing along the way to glare and growl at Biff.

“Well, now that all that is out of the way,” he announced cheerfully, “we can get to business.  Mary, I would love to take you to dinner this evening…what do you say?”

As Biff’s mouth dropped open once again at the audacity of the incessantly insolent interloper, wondering what he should do next as he’d never been in a position to purposely pound upon a person to possessively point out who, in fact, was in charge here, he felt Mary’s hand leave his arm as she walked toward Phillipe once more.

“Oh, Phillipe! That would be…”

Will Mary accept Phillipe’s offer?

Will Biff figure out how to confront Phillipe?

Will any boxes ever get unpacked?

Tune in next time!  J

Biff and Mary: Chapter Fourteen

Welcome back for more Biff and Mary! Today’s episode will be filled with the vapid thought processes, extreme run-on sentences, excessive amount of detail and ridiculous shallowness that epitomize our Perfectly Perfect Pair! When we last left our lovebirds at Mary’s home in Loversville, they had just been attempting to unpack boxes and were finishing their lunch while Mary’s pampered Pomeranian, Poopsie, languished in the back yard. Buff, blemished Biff was about to reveal his deep, dark, secret… ;) Hope you enjoy!

** If you'd like to read previous chapters of Biff and Mary, my exercise in How Not to Write, just click on the "Biff and Mary" tab above, or click here. **

Chapter 14: Wherein Biff’s Secret is Revealed and True Love is Tested Once More…

Biff cleared his throat, flipped his well-styled sun-kissed blond hair with the 23 darker streaks mixed in (which she had still yet to determine were natural or the result of an expert colorist, but as she now knew that her love knew no bounds she had decided she didn’t mind which), and determinedly looked Mary in the eye as he prepared to divulge the secret of his moniker misfortune.

“Well, Mary…it is important that we always be honest with each other…even about the most, er….challenging things, right?” He looked at her hopefully.

Mary nodded and swallowed and tried to ignore the way her heartbeat had sped up because the way it was beating made her think back to watching cartoons on her grandmother’s old RCA  television, which had it’s own dark wood grain cabinet and metal rabbit ears on top which worked sometimes but didn’t work others, and once in a while they had to crumple up tin foil and wrap it on the ends of the antennas to make it work well enough for her to watch her Saturday morning Looney Tunes when she was visiting. Anyhoo, she thought about watching the cartoons and the way Pepe LePew’s heart would beat so hard that it would practically poke right out of his chest every time he saw his lady love, much like Mary’s heart was beating right now. She risked a quick glance down at her own chest, swathed in the once-lovely-but-now-hopelessly-wrinkled white cotton blouse with the delicate little cap sleeves, which had so nicely set off both her lightly tanned and toned arms as well as her plum-colored pedal-pusher pants, not to mention her amethyst accessories, and was relieved to find that her own frantic heartbeat wasn’t nearly so obvious as Pepe’s .

“Mary?”

“Er…yes. Yes, Biff, of course. Please go on.”

Biff cleared his throat again. “Well…my parents told me that they thought a man of my social stature really needed to have more than one middle name, and since they wanted to be sure to honor both of my late grandfathers when I was born, they gave me both of their names. So…my middle names are... Ulysses and Reginald.”

He glanced at Mary expectantly, braced for her reaction. When she continued to stare at him vacantly, he took a deep breath and went on.

“So…my full name is... Bickford Ulysses Reginald Parker.”

Mary’s vacant look remained for a moment more, then her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open slightly in shock and dismay. “But Biff…if…if that’s the case, then that means that your initials are…”

Biff and Mary: Chapters Twelve & Thirteen

Welcome back for more Biff and Mary! (previous chapters can be viewed here)

This chapter, we will continue the usual Biff-and-Mary shallow shenanigans accompanied by excessive description and utter silliness. Also, you will note an example of extremely unnatural, poorly punctuated and just-plain-bad dialogue in the beginning of Chapter 13. 

I stumbled upon a similar butchering of character conversation in a book I read recently, and the result -- specifically, my cringing in utter horror -- was something I thought best shared, so you are very welcome!  ;)

(Seriously, though -- please, please, I beg of you! -- don't ever write dialogue like this!)

Chapter 12: Wherein Biff Battles Boxes

Mary felt the soft pressure of Biff’s lips on hers and ran her hands up his shoulders and around his neck. The moment she inched her fingers up and into his hair, Biff pulled back suddenly.

“Biff? Is something wrong?”

“No, no, of course not,” Biff said, smiling as he patted down his hair, checking to be sure it was in place. 

Mary realized their moment had passed and decided that the best thing to do was change the subject.

“Do you think we should try to get started on these boxes, Biff?”  She gestured at the various piles of cardboard cartons that graced the room.

Biff smiled. “Of course!  In fact…” his voice trailed off as he walked back toward the front door to where The Poopsie Incident had occurred. He paused en route, checking his reflection in the mirror and combing his hand through his hair briefly before retrieving his leather satchel, which matched the belt he wore and was lying on the tile where he’d dropped it.  He brought it back to Mary.

“I discussed the box issue with Tony, our estate handyman, and he assured me that all I would need is…” Biff rummaged through the contents of the satchel, mumbling in frustration. “Now where is that….I know it’s in there…darn it!”  Finally, he gave up and kneeled on the floor, dumping the entire contents of the satchel onto the tiles. 

            As she viewed the contents of Biff’s satchel, Mary felt a moment of surprise as she realized that there were certainly some areas of grooming at which Biff excelled and, in fact, far surpassed her in terms of dedication.

            Spread out on the blue tiles was a brush, three different sized combs in blue, black and brown, a small bottle of Paul Mitchell Sculpting & Styling Glaze, a bottle of the same brand Unisex Flexible Hold Spray, and a small jar of Paul Mitchell for Men’s Medium-hold/Semi-Matte Styling Cream. Mary also spied a tube of dry shampoo and a travel-sized ceramic straightener. As she opened her mouth to ask the brand name of the straightener (she’d been looking for a new one herself), Biff swept aside the styling glaze and grabbed a small metal item. “Aha! There it is!”

“What is it, Biff?”

He quickly shoved all the hair products back into his satchel, rose from the floor and opened his hand. Nestled in his palm was a metal object, approximately four inches in length, with a sharp-looking blade protruding from one end.

“Tony gave it to me. It’s a box cutter!”

Biff used his other hand to push down a small screw on the side of the object, causing the sharp blade to extend further.

“See? The blade will open boxes quite easily, I understand.”

Mary reached out a hand toward the box cutter, but Biff drew it away with a small shake of his head.

“No, Mary. I think it best if I handle the box cutter myself. Tony showed me how to use it, and I wouldn’t want you to be harmed; it’s a Very Dangerous Tool.”

Mary nodded her head in solemn understanding.

“Well, where do you think we should start, Biff?”

The pair looked around the room and Biff knelt down by the nearest box. “Why not here?” he said, with one of those heart-stopping grins that always made Mary swoon.

With that, he reached out with the box cutter and sliced through the packing tape that sealed it. He then opened the flaps of the box and looked up at Mary triumphantly.

Mary clapped her hands together.  “Biff, you did it! How wonderful!”

She knelt beside him and together they began removing the contents of the box, which turned out to be mostly Mary’s copies of Vogue and People magazines, as well as her two favorite books: Fabulous Fashion for Refined Young Ladies, and Makeup Secrets of the Stars, 1955-2010.

Mary and Biff started making neat piles on the floor as they emptied the box, although both were soon distracted and Mary began flipping the pages of Makeup Secrets while Biff thumbed through a copy of Vogue.  However, Mary soon realized that at this rate, they would never accomplish what they intended, so she opened her mouth to interrupt Biff’s perusal of the article “Armani or Prada: How to Choose?, but the sound of the doorbell broke in at just that moment.

Book Review: The Malorie Phoenix by Janet Mullany

Title:  The Malorie Phoenix

Author: Janet Mullany

Publisher:  TKA Distribution

Pub Date:  April 24, 2012

ISBN:  9781937776299

I enjoyed Janet Mullany’s novel, Improper Relations, so I was thrilled to be able to read and review The Malorie Phoenix.

Because I am apparently too lazy to summarize today, I’ll begin with the marketing copy/blurb provided by the publisher:

She plays a deadly game, but nothing is as dangerous as love. Benedict de Malorie, Earl of Trevisan, can never forget the masked woman he met one night at a London pleasure garden. The clever pickpocket stole his heart and his family's prized jewel - the Malorie Phoenix. But the family treasure reappears in Benedict's darkest hour, returned by its thief, along with the unexpected gift of his infant daughter.Believing that she is dying, Jenny Smith leaves her daughter in the custody of the baby's blueblood father. Seven years later she finds herself in good health and alone, yearning for her only child. To raise enough money to support them both, she takes part in a daring escapade that requires her to impersonate a woman of quality. She fools the ton and Benedict himself.When Jenny finds herself entangled in a murderous plot against Benedict, the father of her child, her carefully laid plans begin to fall apart. All she wants is her daughter back, but she never thought she'd fall in love with Benedict. Revealing her part in the plot means she will almost certainly lose Benedict and their daughter forever. But continuing to play her role puts them all in terrible danger.

Jenny and Benedict couldn’t be more different. Benedict, raised to be Earl of Trevisan, could never know what life was like for Jenny, whose circumstances lead her to steal merely to survive. Their initial attraction is something that both of them act on without thinking, although they each fully believe their liaison will never go further than that one night in the gardens of Vauxhall.

Jenny Smith is a refreshingly unconventional Regency heroine. She has the guts to make her own decisions and stand by them, beginning with that choice to toss caution to the wind and act on her attraction to Benedict. She consistently trusts her instincts while doing whatever is necessary to ensure her future and her child's. She doesn't apologize for her past or the choices she makes, even when circumstances become challenging.

As for Benedict, he is equally likable. A good man who tries to always do the right thing, he is portrayed as an involved, exceptional father and his scenes with daughter Sarah are warm and touching. Mullany skillfully shows the depth of that father/daughter relationship as well as the progression of Jenny’s understanding of it; while she initially wants to get her daughter back no matter the cost, she quickly realizes how devoted Benedict and Sarah are to one another. Combined with her own evolving feelings, her choices are not quite so easy anymore.

The progression of the romance is realistic, although some aspects of the plot are less so.

Biff and Mary: Chapter Eleven

Welcome to the next chapter of Biff and Mary! 

(please click here for all previous chapters)

Today's installment will include our usual shallow-but-lovable characters, extraneous description, and unnecessary and unfortunate alliteration. It will also serve as an example of  an ill-advised authorial decision to build an entire chapter out of one very brief moment -- but hopefully with a bit of humor as well.  ;)

Hope you enjoy! 

Chapter Eleven:  In Which There Are Screams, Stumbles, and Stubbornly Stuck Posteriors

It occurred to Mary that she had never heard quite such an exceedingly high-pitched tone emanate from Biff’s roguishly handsome lips before. 

The sound that escaped her beloved as Poopsie’s perfectly white, perfectly sharp canines punctured the pad of his thumb reminded her briefly of the piercingly shrill sounds of the first grade playground at Mayfield Elementary, when she and the other six-year-old girls made a game of trying to shriek as loudly as they could. She’d won most of those squealing contests, she recalled, but hearing Biff now she wondered whether she’d overestimated her own elocutionary talents.

As the sound of Biff’s involuntary scream faded, Mary shook herself out of her shock and dismay enough to stumble two steps backward with her suddenly ferocious pup. Regrettably, one of her many unpacked boxes sat approximately one and one half steps behind her and thus the result of her movement caused her to fall unceremoniously backward, and her backside wedged firmly inside the now-broken top of the box, cushioned by the various sheets, towels and fripperies within. She had barely a moment to be grateful that she’d landed in the linens box, rather than the one containing her grandmother’s crystal, before Poopsie darted from her arms.  Mary let out her own startled scream, immediately realizing that it didn’t even come close to the high pitch and duration of Biff’s, but deciding that perhaps it didn’t matter, considering her precious pup’s peril and the precariously perched position of her posterior.

What did matter, she soon realized, was that the moment she tripped, Biff intuitively moved toward her to attempt to break her fall, and Poopsie elected to continue her proactive efforts to protect Mary from the intruder by charging toward Biff’s feet with a ferocious and determined little snarl, clamping onto the hem of his fashionably expensive relaxed vintage blue jeans from Banana Republic.  Much to Mary’s chagrin, Biff instinctively shook her off, and her little Poopsie took flight across the misty green ceramic tiled foyer floor, spinning around in a blur of pastel pink fluff until she came to a stop in the corner by the door, her landing cushioned by the small pile of newspapers Mary had placed there prior to taking them out to the recycling bin.

The brief, sudden silence that ensued was broken by all three of them simultaneously, with Poopsie’s yelp of surprise overshadowed at once by Biff’s horrified exclamation of “Good Heavens! Is she all right?” and Mary’s equally horrified shriek of “Poopsie! My baby!” 

Biff and Mary: Chapters 9 and 10

Welcome back for another installment of Biff and Mary!

Sorry for the delay in posting new chapters...
For those who want to start from the beginning, click the "Biff and Mary" tab above, or here: Biff and Mary

As usual, within this next chapter we will be treated to our beloved TSTL heroine’s every vapid thought, Biff’s general buff-ness, and excessive description of every little thing.  You may also notice some really poor transitioning, run-on sentences and unfortunate alliteration.

Enjoy! J

Chapter 9: In Which Brunch is Served and Boxes are Contemplated

When we last left our lovebirds, Biff was professing his affection for Mary over a table at Bart’s Bistro, leaning toward her with obvious intent…

A pale, freckled arm with four silver bracelets clanking at the wrist unceremoniously inserted itself between Biff and Mary, placing a basket of rolls and butter between them and causing Biff to settle back into his seat.

Mary swallowed back her disappointment as well as her annoyance at the timing of the wrist’s owner, their server Lorraine. She smiled at her politely instead.

“Your salads’ll be right up,” Lorraine announced, spinning quickly on her heel to head back toward the kitchen, the damage done.

Biff cleared his throat politely and reached for the basket, holding it out to Mary.  She declined and smiled at him winningly, wondering how to recapture that romantic moment so suddenly and sadly interrupted. She stole another glance at Biff, studiously setting her gaze below his blemished brow in order to fully appreciate the view, then sighed with resignation, unrolled her beige linen napkin and set it on her lap in preparation for her Caesar Salad.

The following morning, Mary woke early and went immediately to the shower to prepare for her unpacking day with her beloved beau, Biff.

She washed her hair with Paul Mitchell Extra Body Daily Shampoo, followed by Paul Mitchell Extra Body Daily Rinse, and sudsed up her loofah with Origins Fresh Waterlily Bodybar, then washed and shaved with her Daisy razor. 

Once finished in the shower, she was toweling off leisurely when she heard a tiny yelp from outside the bathroom door.

Biff and Mary: Chapter 8

Welcome back for more Biff and Mary!

Hope this chapter provides an amusing start to your weekend! J

(For those who'd like to read from the beginning, click the "Biff and Mary" tab above, or click here )


We last left our effusively extravagant and extremely obtuse protagonists at the proverbial cliff’s edge, as Mary – basking in the relief of a Hurricane finally named Bruce – awaits the rest of Biff’s question…

Chapter 8:  In Which Mary and Biff Converse on Very Important Subjects

Mary felt her heart stop.  

It started beating again almost instantly, to her great relief, but before that happened it felt as though it had stopped and dropped directly into her stomach.  Her memories of fourth-grade basic human anatomy studies assured her that this was more than likely not possible, but still it felt that way, and filled her mind momentarily with a curious vision of her heart sharing space next to her forthcoming Caesar Salad and Tiramisu, sloshing around with espresso and mineral water and a dollop of whipped cream, but happily this disturbing image vanished quickly as the reality of Biff’s intriguing words sank into her brain (which luckily hadn’t dropped anywhere, as yet. As far as she knew.).

“Mary?”

Biff’s voice broke into her anatomical meanderings and she shook her head to clear it.

“Uh, yes, Biff.  What was it that you wanted to ask me?” she said, as calmly as she could.

Could this be IT? she wondered.  Could this be the moment she had dreamed of since she’d played with her Barbie and Ken dolls and their Town House, Camper and sporty convertible of undetermined make and model so long ago? Could Biff be asking her THE question?  She glanced down at her nails, vaguely wishing she’d chosen a different color at the salon, because the plum color simply wouldn’t set off the shining grandeur of a…

Her thoughts cut off abruptly once more as Biff cleared his throat nervously, looking uncharacteristically lacking in confidence as he shifted his gaze to the table.

“Well, I wanted to ask you if…er…that is, if you would consider….”

“Yes??”

Biff and Mary: Chapters 6 and 7

For those who'd like to read from the beginning, I've added a separate page which contains the entire story up to this point (check navigation bar, above, or click here).  I will add to it each time I post an update.Again, I feel the need to point out that this is merely my own little humorous exercise in "What Not to Do," shared for mutual laughs, and not meant to be considered Serious Writing by any means! ;)Welcome back for more Biff and Mary!Hope you enjoy today's chapters! :)

Chapter 6: Wherein Biff Befriends Bitsy

Mary leapt up from her seat as her friend drew near, drawing her into a warm hug before turning toward Biff, who had risen in a gentlemanly fashion, as one did when a woman approached one’s table, if one had been raised right. 

“Biff, meet Bitsy Buffington, my best friend from Buffalo!”

She turned to Bitsy.  “Bitsy, my beau, Biff!”

Biff grasped Bitsy’s hand with a firm-but-definitely-not-too-firm amount of pressure, as was appropriate when a man was introduced to a woman.  “A pleasure, Miss Buffington.”

“Oh, please call me Bitsy!” she said, “Everyone does!”

Bitsy was petite and poised, and enveloped in a tasteful ensemble consisting of a pink and white pinstriped linen skirt with four one-inch rose-colored buttons at the side, its hem approximately two and one-half inches above her knees, topped by a lightweight cashmere sweater set in Powder Pink, purchased at Prudence’s Practical Petites Boutique in Poughkeepsie, finished with two-inch heeled matching pumps and tasteful teardrop pearl earrings. 

Biff and Mary, Chapters 4 and 5

Welcome back for another episode of "The Amorous Adventures of Biff and Mary"!

(Note:  As much of this is already written, I will be updating frequently, as time allows, though not on a regular schedule. Please feel free to check back or subscribe for new posts!

Need to catch up?  Previous chapters:

Introducing Biff and Mary

Biff and Mary, Chapters 2 and 3

Hope to bring a smile to your face today! :)

Chapter 4: Mary’s Journey Toward the Bistro Continues…

When we last checked in with our devoted and descriptive duo, poor blemished Biff was preparing for brunch and our exceptionally ensembled Mary was breathlessly awaiting his response to her enigmatic statement about unpacking boxes…

Mary switched her cell phone to her right hand and used her left to push the button on her door, closing her windows to block out the cacophony of blowing horns emanating from the Toyota, the Chrysler, the GMC and the Volkswagon, which had now been joined by a Mustang and a Prius. She was determined to stay right where she was, knowing that her beloved beau, Biff, deserved her undivided attention and certain that if she had a moment (or two…or possibly three) to devote to explaining her various dilemmas to the crowd of motorists behind her, they would surely understand and would very happily wait until she was ready to drive again.  This thought brought about an overall feeling of solidarity and companionship with her new friends in the post office parking lot and she spared a moment to look over her shoulder at the line of cars behind her to offer them her most grateful and dazzling Crest White Strips smile, perfectly set off by the careful outlining of her lips in Cover Girl Long Wear Lipstick in Coquettish Coral and finished off with a precisely choreographed wave, flawlessly emulating that of Her Majesty The Queen, who had waved so beautifully to the crowds of well-wishers at the wedding of her grandson, Prince William, to the lovely and fashionable Kate Middleton.

Biff and Mary: Chapters 2 and 3

Welcome back for more adventures in the shallow-yet-extremely-well-detailed lives of Biff and Mary!

(Catch up on previous chapter first: Biff and Mary, Chapter 1)

Please note:  "The Amorous Adventures of Biff and Mary" are written for fun and as an extreme exaggeration of certain tropes and habits in over-thought and overly-descriptive writing.  I am in no way serious, nor am I basing any of this on anything or anyone.  Just hoping to give you a laugh today!  :)

Chapter 2: Wherein Mary Makes Her Way to Her Car and Enters It:

When we last saw Mary, our blonde heroine in a polyester/cotton blend periwinkle dress with matching shoes and earrings was contemplating lawn slugs, dings in her Honda Civic, and the horrific possibility of her beau, Biff, soon becoming known as Balding Hurricane Biff with a Blighting Blemish...we join her now, on the front walk, approximately one minute and twelve seconds after we left her...

Mary turned 142 degrees to her left before proceeding down the sidewalk, which had several weeds growing in between at least twenty-four of the one hundred and two bricks of which it was made. As she walked she noticed a bird flying above her. She squinted in order to discern its type, and found that it was a robin, though she could not tell whether or not it was male or female. She paused to consider following the bird, because of course knowing whether or not the bird she'd glanced at was a male or a female was of the utmost importance today, as she was due to meet Biff for brunch at Bart's Bistro and if she should decide to relate the occurrence to Biff, he was sure to want all of the details....She watched the bird alight and then hop from branch to branch on the large oak tree in the yard but soon shrugged her slender, periwinkle-clad shoulders and decided that like her, Biff would likely be too preoccupied with possibility of the "B" hurricane, as well as the unfortunate blemish between his perfectly groomed, thick, blonde-but-not-light-brown eyebrows, to want to hear about the bird of unknown gender at all. A frown, which at this stage in her hitherto un-Botoxed life consisted of merely three two-inch creases and one 3/4 inch wrinkle near the bridge of her nose, appeared slightly above her sculpted, light brown-but-not-blond-and-certainly-not-red eyebrows as she momentarily contemplated the calamities that had befallen both her and her beau Biff in so short a span of time, what with the blemish, the hurricane, the lawn slugs and the car ding, all seeming to overwhelm them at once and thus threatening their otherwise flawless and surely fated love.

Introducing Biff and Mary: Chapter 1

Quite some time ago, a good friend and I were discussing writing and the subject of adjective overuse came up. This led to a light-hearted chat about some common mistakes we all tend to make when we first begin writing creatively, specifically the prevalence of excess description, too-perfect heroes and heroines, and just basic "over-writing."

Just for fun, I started a mini story about a couple named Biff and Mary, whose new romance is often sadly overshadowed by extraneous detail.  Their mutual shallowness is only rivaled by the abundance of unnecessary drama in their lives...not to mention the superfluous ellipses.

I thought it would be fun to share Biff and Mary's romance with all of you and so, without further ado (though I might warn you that this will be the last time anything having to do with Biff and Mary will be done without any further ado), I introduce to you the pleasantly perfect, perfectly matched and excessively exhaustive Biff and Mary:

Chapter 1:  Mary Steps Through the Door

Mary ran a hand through the ends of her shoulder-length, pale blonde hair, which she had just had tinted by her stylist last Tuesday, and had run a brush through twenty minutes earlier, before pulling it back into a purple and yellow scrunchy approximately three inches up from the nape of her neck. She shut the dark green, painted pine front door with two scratches on the brass knob, which matched the oval-shaped brass door knocker (which did not have any scratches that she knew of), and stepped off the brick step onto the grass, which was a mixture of Kentucky bluegrass and weeds, and had a few bald spots caused by slugs, for which she'd called the Loversville Landscape Company, who were due to arrive the following day at precisely 8:15 am, barring traffic caused by any unforseen traffic events or delays in line at the coffee shop.

Her thoughts wandered to the evening before, when Biff had kissed her. His hair, which was a lovely sun-kissed blond with approximately 23 darker streaks mixed in, which she had yet to determine were natural or the result of an expert colorist, had blown around slightly in the breeze caused by the cold front coming in from the south, which they both hoped wouldn't turn into a hurricane force wind, because the next hurricane was due to be named with a "B" and for all Mary knew it would be named "Biff" and she would forever associate the love of her life and his perfectly-shaded hair with a devastating windstorm...

And when Biff had grasped her deeply moisturized and expertly-blushed-by-Maybelline face between his well-manicured hands and kissed her in the possibly-soon-to-become-a-hurricane breeze, his breath had evoked memories of the finely-aged red wine they’d had with dinner, as well as the breaded pork chop, marinated asparagus and slightly overcooked rice pilaf, with a slight aftertaste of cherry cheesecake....he had pressed his lips to hers with precisely the right amount of passion-inducing pressure, and she’d felt the scratchy friction of his stubbly beard, which had grown in slightly despite (he had assured her in his ever-so-gallant reassuringly manly way) his efforts of shaving it that morning at 7:32 with a Bic razor and Barbasol shave cream, rinsed with warm water and followed by a splash of Old Spice. He’d leaned his forehead against hers, and she was drawn back in time to the evening before, when she’d noted the blemish there, just between his thick, dark-blond-but-not-to-be-confused-with-light-brown brows, and she had suggested he use some Clearasil cream, but he'd insisted that Neosporin would do the trick.  He had apparently been mistaken because the blemish had remained, casting a skin-reddened taint upon their near-perfect romantic moment just as she had begun to appreciate the thoroughly masculine aroma of his thirty-nine-dollar cologne.

Mary smoothed the knee-length skirt of her periwinkle, 80% cotton/20% polyester dress, which matched her leather heels with the astonishingly adorable little buckles, as well as her sensible-yet-sexy hoop earrings with hypoallergenic posts, and sighed. It wasn't a quiet sigh, nor was it a heavy sigh...it was the type of sigh that you can hear if you are sitting within three feet of the other person, but not from across the room...anyhoo, she smoothed her periwinkle polyester/cotton blend skirt and sighed as she stood looking at the bald spots on the lawn and thought once more of Biff, hoping against hope that such bald spots would never mar that beautiful head of perfectly nuanced hair, as the unfortunate blemish had marred his forehead. Yes, her beloved Biff, who she also wished would not soon become forevermore known as Hurricane Biff, and whose blemished pate still drew her like Lyle Lovett’s warbling scarecrow sounds had once drawn Pretty Woman Julia Roberts.  

She sighed again, a bit louder than before but certainly not audibly enough to be heard from farther than four feet away, and she glanced at her car. It was a pearl white Honda Civic with 62,421 miles on it, freshly washed the morning before by the cheerleaders at the Loversville High School Car Wash Fundraiser for Perfectly Pink Pom-Poms,  and it shone brightly in the sun that had broken through the possible hurricane clouds.  The Civic had last had its oil changed on November 23rd at 10:02 am, and that was when she had first noticed the ding on one side that she had never had repaired, and which of course haunted her still each and every day. Between the lawn slugs, the hurricane, the dismaying door ding and her beloved Biff and his blemish (not to mention his possible future baldness and tragic association with potential storm damage which could lead to the necessity of naming any future offspring "Gale" or "Windy") .... Well. Mary feared it was bound to be an emotionally trying day... 

(To Be Continued.....)

Romantic Expectations

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day and  more likely than not, most of our significant others will be making that frantic attempt to fulfill the traditional Valentine's Day expectation of romance, be it in the form of candlelight dinners, flowers, chocolates, poetic cards or all of the above.

While I certainly enjoy the extra attention Valentine's Day can bring, I've found that I don't really put as much emphasis on it anymore.

Not that it isn't a nice idea to have a day devoted to appreciating the one you love.  I am all for that!  And giving our men/significant others a little reminder to appreciate us can never be a bad idea.  But really, shouldn't that be an everyday thing?

There was a time (pre-marriage, pre-kids), when I wanted all of that Romance, with the capital "R."  I wanted the flowers (roses, if you please), the intimate dinners, the moments filled with heartfelt declarations, and all of the grand gestures of True Romance.

Flowers and pretty sentiments are all well and good, on Valentine's Day or any other, and while I enjoy those grand gestures when they come around, I don't require them in quite the same way.

Now, don't get me wrong --  I certainly won't dream of turning down a dozen red roses if they're offered.  ;)  But they're not necessary in the same way other things are, maybe because what I consider romantic or sexy has changed as I've grown older.

Interestingly (maybe oddly?), my favorite heroes of the romance novels I've read in recent years aren't the type for grand gestures, for the most part.  They're more quietly appreciative, with love expressed more in word and deed than with flowers and gifts.  I'm far more impressed and intrigued by a man (fictional or not) who can truly appreciate a strong, independent woman while understanding the value of a gentlemanly gesture, or one who can give his woman strength when she needs it, but knows she can hold her own and admires her for it (Outlander's Jamie Fraser comes to mind...easily my favorite romantic hero). 

Back here in the real world, though, sometimes it's simply the little things that I find sexy or romantic.  For instance, here are a few of the type of moments that can make me melt more than a box of chocolates on a sunny day:

      A big man cradling a tiny infant in his arms...

      Fathers dancing with daughters...

      A cup of coffee refilled without asking...

      The words, "No, honey, you sleep; I'll get the baby/let the dog out/make the coffee."

      Sharing a glass of wine while the kids are settling into sleep...
  
      Being told, "Don't worry; I'll take care of it."  About anything.

      The gas tank being filled so I don't have to stop...

      Finding my car warming up in the driveway just before I was going to do it myself...


Well, you get the idea.  :)
Real romance is just so much more than can be captured in one day of expression, isn't it?  It's in the most ordinary of moments sometimes.  And for me, it's everyday mutual respect and consideration that I find truly romantic. And worth so much more than an annual bouquet of short-lived flowers.

Here's hoping your Valentine's Day is filled with whatever you consider the most romantic of moments. :)

Things to ponder...

Does Valentine's Day mean the same to you that it always did?  How has it changed for you?

What do you consider truly romantic?

Would you give up all the roses and chocolates for something less traditionally romantic? (okay, maybe not the chocolates!)

Who's your favorite romantic hero, from book or movie?
Feel free to share in the comments!  :)

Image courtesy VintageHolidayCrafts.com

Snow Day Simplicity

 "A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water."  ~ Carl Reiner

(Courtesy of
www.karenswhimsy.com)

Here on the East Coast, we are once more in the midst of a blizzard, even as we still valiantly (if unenthusiastically) attempt to dig out from the massive amounts of snow already on the ground.


In the few weeks since I last posted, we've had three storms and roughly three feet of snow (or more? I've lost track).  At this point, exiting driveways and certain roadways is an act of faith, what with the inability to see any possible oncoming traffic past the mountains of snow drifts.  Accelerate and pray...


Of course, this is New England; snow and blizzards and lousy driving conditions are a given, as are occasional power outages. During one of these recent storms, a tree limb came down onto our power lines, leaving us in the dark for nearly 11 hours. With no electricity, a long, dull day seemed to 
loom ahead.

But as the day went on, and my initial antsy annoyance at being cut off from computers, phones and appliances waned a bit, I found myself beginning to appreciate it.  We all gathered around the fireplace, rather than spread out with our various individual activities. We played board games, which we somehow rarely find time for these days.  We read by candlelight.  And we talked. And actually took the time to enjoy one another's company for a change. 

And what I noticed most as I sat by the fire, reading by the light of a couple of candles, was the quiet. 

No television, no constant electrical hum in the air. 

It was...peaceful. 

And surprisingly comfortable.

I won't say I wasn't happy when the power came back, but while it lasted, it really wasn't so bad.  It made me feel less stressed, somehow.  As if I were living in another time, back when there was no electricity and no modern conveniences, and most evenings were necessarily spent in quiet activity near the fire, the only source of warmth and light.

I've often wondered if I am enamored of historical romances in large part because of the depiction of those simpler times.  I enjoy contemporary novels as well, but not nearly as much as those that manage to bring to life the days when there were no modern conveniences or affectations.  There is something calming and intriguing about the thought of a life without the noise and madness we all just accept as necessary these days. 

As wonderful as our daily conveniences may be, there is a trade-off involved; we've given up much of the calm, peaceful quality of life that used to exist in a less modernized world.   And though I know I wouldn't want to be cut off from all of it forever, having that unexpected day of true simplicity wasn't merely tolerable, but actually rather nice.  And I'm sure that the next time the power goes out, I won't grumble.  Instead, I'll just let myself bask in the peace.

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to live in the 18th or 19th century?

Would having to wear a tightly-laced corset be a deal breaker, or would you love to dress in the frilly fashions of another time?

What would be the worst thing about it?  The best?

For me, I think the lack of running water would likely send me screaming into the night eventually, but how about you?

The Allure of the Romance Novel

All anyone has to do is peek over at the list of authors on the side panel to see that when it comes to reading, I am currently a fan of the romance genre.  With the possible exception of Diana Gabaldon, whose epic Outlander series somewhat defies any true categorization, all of the talented women listed are romance novelists.

There was a time when I had little interest in even picking up a romance novel.  In the past, I've tended more toward mysteries and thrillers and general popular fiction.  Stephen King, Dean Koontz, John Grisham...you get the idea.  They are still prolific, talented writers I admire, but I no longer seek out their novels as I used to.

While I still consider Stephen King an amazing, one-of-a-kind author, I find I no longer want to spend any extra time considering "the dark side" of life.  No more of King's rabid dogs and murderous sewer clowns, Koontz's lab experiments gone horrifically wrong, or Grisham's lawyers running for their lives.  The daily news has enough of the horror and fear; it seems I can't bring myself to seek it out as entertainment.

Ah, but then there's the romance novel.  Especially the historicals.  With these, I can truly escape to another time and place, one that doesn't hold quite so many echoes of the world we now live in.  The inhabitants of that historical romance world dress better, behave better, and appreciate the world around them and the people in it.  They live more simply, gathering together to read a book or listen to a concert in a neighbor's drawing room.  They hold house parties and balls and interact with the utmost civility and good manners.  Children are respectful of adults, men strive to be gentlemen, and hard work is both expected and pursued.  In the historical romance world, there are no televisions, iPods or cell phones.  When people are together, they have actual conversations; they don't walk along texting other people, ignoring the person beside them.  They appreciate the company of others. 

Naturally, a good portion of the allure of the romance novel is the romance itself.  Who doesn't love love, after all?  Who doesn't always hope for happy endings?  And with a romance novel, there will always, always be one. It's pretty much guaranteed.  And despite what some believe about the sex in romance novels, while they may vary in intensity from mildly steamy to erotic, in my experience they are almost invariably written with sensitivity and with the goal of conveying the natural progression of love.

Of course, the characters in romance novels are not perfect. There are always conflicts and misunderstandings, arguments and sometimes danger.  But these are inevitably worked out or overcome, and the villains receive their comeuppance while the heroes and heroines discover love and begin their Happily Ever After.  And these days, I would much rather set aside the endless stories of crime and unhappiness, and choose instead to remind myself of the possibilities of love and hope.