Memoir Madness

In this week’s writing challenge, mine your memory and write a memoir.

 

I wasn’t allowed pets. The hedgehog, complete with fleas, was a no-go. No cats – allergies. No dogs – walkies. But to make sure I had the proper amount of childhood trauma, my mother washed my beloved panda then hung him out to dry.

By his ears.

Which detached themselves from his head and stayed on the line, while the rest of Pandy (I was only 6, gimme a break!) fell into the mud. He was stuffed with straw and never, ever recovered.

After that, I never trusted my toys to not suddenly disappear. Or my mother, come to that.

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The Edge of the Frame

We often capture strangers in photos we take in public. Open your photo library, and stop at the first picture that features a person you don’t know. Now tell the story of that person.

Ethel and Enid had been pretending to be Ethel and Edward for so long now, it was hard to stop. Even with all this kerfuffle about gay rights, and rainbow pride, they felt happier in their own pretence.

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