#12 Breaking Free

If You Want Adventure, You Need to Write It!

I write the following about spilling the scarves on the bed, and then a few days later attend a gathering of friends.The hostess has invited an acquaintance to show us some dances. This acquaintance empties a large bag of scarves on the floor. Like mine in the story, they range from whimsical and bright to casual and muted! Then she tells us to choose one to wrap around ourselves and two to float through the air as we dance. I choose one with purple sass to wear. This is very weird, I think…and wonderful!

                                                  Chapter 4: Potluck
Despite the fact that Renee had made such calm arrangements with Edward to be away that evening, her day was peppered with fret. “Monty is coming to take me on another adventure!” had been her first thought upon waking. And her next one was, “Wait! It was only a dream, and despite the preternatural occurrences of the last couple of days, I still am rational enough to know that dreams usually aren’t to be taken literally.”

After Edward left for work and she reconsidered the possibility that Monty would not be showing up that evening after all, a feeling of alarm swept through her being. This feeling was immediately followed by anger. She muttered stubbornly to herself—since there was now no one else in the room to whom it could be muttered, “I will have my quixotic adventure. It is my right! I want it, even if it is at the expense of sanity. Sanity is way overrated anyway.”

“Potluck sounds casual, doesn’t it?” she asked herself. Besides, had she ever seen Monty in anything but casual clothes? And most likely they would be traveling by motorcycle again so no skirts or dresses. Yoga pants would be nice, but she suspected not quite appropriate for dinner. Finally she decided on a classic dark pants and white blouse ensemble…with a pair of sandals that had sparklies on the straps. Gazing long and hard at herself in the mirror, she felt dissatisfied with the image that reflected back at her. “Too bland,” she said out loud, “What’s lacking is sass!”

Impulsively she pulled open a drawer and emptied its contents on the bed: scarves of every variety imaginable tumbled forth: formal, casual, whimsical, outrageous, bright, muted… “Purple sass!” she gloated as she pulled one from the heap. It was long and gauzy. Expertly she wrapped it twice loosely around her neck, and then let it float at shoulder level. Before she turned away from the mirror she fluffed her dark hair. She liked how the angles fell into place with a shake of her head. Perfect for a windblown ride into adventure!

(TBC)

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