Okay. This is an unfortunate oversight. What I'm talking about is way bigger than this.

Okay. This is an unfortunate and totally understandable oversight. What I’m talking about is way bigger than this.

I don’t know about you, but I feel misled.

That’s right.

The Pacific Northwest is supposed to be:

1. rainy

2. cool

3. rainy

4. damp

5. cloudy

6. wet

7. not hot

Have you seen a weather forecast for Oregon or Washington State for this weekend?

I didn't sign up for this!

I didn’t sign up for this!

My smart phone keeps giving me high heat warnings, and not because it (the smart phone) is having a power surge.

Apparently I moved to this area at the very same time that this area decided to become a freaking desert (not ever to be confused with dessert).

Unless you burn the smithereens out of your tasty dessert, then desert and dessert are easily confused...

Unless you burn the smithereens out of your tasty dessert, then desert and dessert are easily confused…

In case you didn’t know, I’ll tell you:

1. I am extremely (as in terribly, horribly, obnoxiously) light and sun sensitive.

I try to protect myself from the sun, but I simply prefer being out when the sun isn't.

Me when I’ve been outside for too long on a sunny day…I try to protect myself from the sun, but I simply prefer being out when the sun isn’t.

2. For some reason, my body has forgotten how to sweat, so when I get hot (and I do get hot), I get the symptoms of heat stroke rather than have moisture pop out of my pores.

3. If there are too many consecutive days of sunny weather (AKA “nice” or “beautiful” days), I get irritable, huffy, testy, cranky, surly, peevish, snappy, prickly, and generally cantankerous.

Okay. That’s off my chest.

It’s time for my weekly (weakly) submission for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers Flash Fiction 100-word story.

The photograph that all the writers used to inspire their story was taken by Kent Bonham. Thanks, Kent!

kent

My realistic fiction story comes in at exactly 99 words.

Lizzie Smiled

“I don’t like this place.”

“What’s not to like? It’s Paris. It’s almost midnight. And no chaperones!”

“Those are all reasons I don’t like this place.”

Mandy sighed. She loved her older sister, but, damn, Lizzie was such a burden since the “accident.”

“Come on, Lizzie. Mom spent big bucks on this vacation so we could have fun. She trusts us.”

“I don’t trust us.”

“I know. But I want to live a little…for once!”

Lizzie crossed her arms and looked up. “Get it back, Mandy.”

“That stinky garlic necklace doesn’t actually protect you. It looks ridiculous.”

Lizzie smiled.

*****

I totally made this one up.

By the way, those two murderers who escaped are still on the lam. Where does this phase (“on the lam”) come from? Best I can tell, “lam” originates from some Norwegian word meaning “to beat until lame.” So the word came to be used as slang for “beating it” as in “beating it out of here.” Where did that phrase come from? Slang for the beating of the feet as people skedaddle away…

Yeah, that's how I imagine these fugitives are now that the Adirondack bugs have had their way them.

Yeah, that’s how I imagine those fugitives are feeling now that the Adirondack bugs have had their way them.

Enough of this. I need to find another place in the world more suitable for me to live in…

I know how you feel, Lorna. People judge us because we're timeless beauties who have it goin' on.

I know how you feel, Lorna. People judge us because we’re timeless beauties who have it goin’ on. And why are we such beauties? We avoid the sun.

Disclaimer: Except for the screenshot from my smart phone and the photo for the prompt (for which I gave credit), all photos were nabbed from Google Images for pure entertainment value.