Over at Ickle Fiction, where Treefen is kicking the blogday festivities up a notch (BAM!), a contest is underway. The goal is to write a complete scene in 300 words or less that’s “loss-of-bladder-control funny”. Also, the scene has to include the words “ickle”, “solipsistic”, and “verisimilitude”.
Well, I gave it a shot, but I’m not happy with it. It’s diuretic qualities are pretty feeble actually. Here it is.
As Dave stood there in his bathrobe and woolly socks, it occurred to him that he was inappropriately dressed for the occasion. It also occurred to him, as the doorbell rang for the second time, that maybe he should have remembered that his mother-in-law, Greta, was stopping by for brunch today. And after a moment of quiet reflection, he then wondered if he was a little too smelly to answer the door.
This, he decided, was a problem.
He stood.
As he stood, an ickle caterpillar inched its way across the window.
A bead of sweat grew on his forehead.
He didn’t as much mind being seen in his robe as being seen in Greta’s robe. His wife had borrowed it from her not long ago, and Dave, having misplaced his own robe, slipped it on for just a moment.
Well, he thought. This, surely, is proof of the non-validity of a solipsistic worldview.
The hall clock ticked.
In the distance, a dog barked.
It occurred to him that he’d seen situations like this on the TV, but had doubted their verisimilitude. He had no doubt now.
A floorboard creaked under his foot.
The cat meowed by his leg.
The bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and lodged itself in his left eye, making him blink lop-sidedly for a moment.
Now, he considered, would be a good time to do something.
As the doorbell rang again, he threw himself into action. And in moments, he was prepared.
“Come in… it’s open!” he called, with as much jaunty laissé-faire as he could muster.
“Good morning, Dave,” Greta said as she entered. “It’s so nice to see— OH!”
A startled silence fell, in which Dave could hear the caterpillar munching on a leaf.
“Good God, Dave. What are you doing to that cat? Is it wearing my bathrobe?”