Penelope’s Pumpkin Shell

I write these little ditties whenever I get an idea so I won’t forget them. Maybe it’ll be a short story someday. For right now, it’s only on this blog.

Everyone called her Penny—except for her husband. After being married for over 2 years, he still called her Penelope. Lately, he’d added a sneer at the end. Especially when he called her on the phone.

Just then, the phone rang and she looked back at the table set with a white cloth and her favorite dishes from her grandmother and crossed her fingers before she answered it.

“You still home?” a gruff voice asked.

“Yes, I’m here all alone in my pumpkin shell. I’m making us a roast chicken dinner for tonight and I’ve got your favorite homemade rolls rising.”

“I won’t be home in time for dinner. Go ahead and eat without me.”

“But you haven’t been home for dinner all this week!”

“You need to get out more and meet some people, Penelope. I can’t be there all the time just to play house with you.”

Suddenly, Penny was angry. “Well, maybe I will. Maybe I’ll find a new friend with a big zipper on his pants who has all his parts working.”

The phone went dead. Penny was shaken. Maybe she went too far this time, she thought as she went to the kitchen to see if the rolls had risen enough to put in the oven.

About forty minutes later, the garage door opened and her husband came into the kitchen, dragged her to their bed and made love to her until she was breathless. “How did you get home so early?” She asked.

“I have to go back. I just came home to show you that all my parts still work…they just don’t work for you.”

On his way back through the kitchen to get to his car, he twisted a chicken leg off the chicken that was still in the roasting pan and pulled a fresh, warm roll out of the bread pan. It would be his last one.