“I’m not sure these holly boughs will hold,” Dan said.
Mona thumbed her phone. “I’m still looking for bingle.”
Midday Matinee is our people watching, people doing and people being feature. Join the Woodland Creatures for an afternoon break.
Welcome back to Tuesday’s Tale, a weekly feature where we collaborate to write a story. Previous Tuesday’s Tales include Christmas Lists and Head-Desk. We follow the basic rules of the “Yes, And” improvisational game – accept everything written so far as part of the story, and add your own paragraph (or so) where the last addition left off – except you needn’t begin your addition with “Yes, and.” I’ll start the story….
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“Mom, what is bingle?” Steve asked.
“I dunno,” Mona said, squinting again at the Jello box, “but it must be an ingredient. How can you make Bingle Jells without bingle?”
Dan revved his pick-up and eased it forward a fraction, then muttered a curse at the sound of cracking wood. “I’ll have to use chains.”
Steve shook his head. “No, dad, the song says ‘Haul the deck with boughs of holly,’ not ‘Haul the deck with chains.’ Maybe we didn’t use enough boughs.”
Sherry nudged her brother. “You guys are making this way too complicated.”
Mona sniffed. “Says the girl who picked ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.’”
“Not fair, mom,” Sherry said. “I had to cook noodles and buy a red rose.”
Across the street, Ned shook his head. “What are they doing?”
“Scrambled carols, dear,” Nancy said. “They rearrange words or first letters and try to act it out.”
“Rod guessed ye, Gerry’s Mental Men,” Ned muttered.
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Have fun!
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Photo Credit: Founterior
Nancy tittered quietly. “It’s not going to be a very Silent Night.”
“Nylon Sight,” Ned retorted. “Got any old pantyhose? Maybe I should offer them to Dan before he pulls the deck off the house.”
“And leaves a ball of holly,” Nancy giggled.
“More like a manger away filled with matchsticks,” Ned retorted. “I wonder if we can give them a Bummer Droy for Christmas.”
“They’re going to have a bummer, all right,” Nancy said, wincing as she heard a crack from across the street. “I hope they have insurance.”
“Who’d insure them against this?” Ned wondered.
“I think you did, dear.”
“Ohh,” Ned said. He scratched his belly and then grinned. “We should take them a snack, darling.”
Nancy recognized the gesture, and the grin. “You have an idea, don’t you?”
…
Two hours later, Dan watched his neighbors approach with a plate. He looked down at three blobs of something that looked like cookies crumbled into sludge and then up at Ned. “Huh?”
“We thought you might be hungry,” Ned said, “so we brought you three key wings with Oreo tar.”
“How very… nice,” said Mona, looking at the plate.
“Hey,” said Dan, “it’s perfect. I hear the High Angels.”
Steve poked his sister with his elbow. “Da..a..d.”
“Okay then,” Mona said swiftly. “He didn’t mean that. He meant he farked the hangnails.”
Nancy and Ned exchanged looks. “Ohhh,” they both said as the linkage occurred. “Hark. Got it.”
“And I have a treat for you,” Mona said. “Hold on….”
“Mom found out what bingle is, Mr. Panderson,” Mona explained.
Thirty years ago, Ned would have groaned. But his dad had just been elected mayor then. The old guy was now serving his ninth term, and Ned was used to the baggage. “Bingle,” he said, “is a British slang term for a car accident. I watch a lot of British TV.”
Mona nodded. “I looked it up online. And these,” she continued, holding a plate with green Jell-O cubes smushed together atop a puddle of red Jell-O, “are Bingle Jells.”