Song of the Day: Blaze of Glory by Bon Jovi
Defender of the Kitchen. And when she burns the turkey . . .
Send in the Firemen!
Take your pick. Today’s prompt can be the vicious kitchen warrior,the ripped firemen, or both.
Is she a Mad Max-like house wife? A Xena Warrior Princess-like slave? What’s she got cooking on the stove?
Did the firemen hotties just wrap up a calendar shoot? Are they cooling down after saving a beautiful woman from her burning home (in the warehouse district, of course). Maybe they are about to hit the showers after a long day of saving kitties in trees.
You tell me.
Have a Happy Thanksgiving!
Jenn,
Finally a photo I can wrap my brain around! Shazam! Thank you.
Okay, here’s the story of Inga, the disoriented Swedish maid —
From the booking clerk at the employment agency, I’d expected to find Hazel in my kitchen. Imagine my surprise to find Inga instead … and seeming without sufficient clothing of her own. She’d been there only 15 minutes, but had already ‘clothed’ herself with a cheese grater, a thingy that holds pots up off counters, and about 30 utensils which make up a bikini-sort-of-belt-or-mini-skirt.
Whew! Welcome to my kitchen, Inga.
Here, let me help you with that belt. These knives look awfully sharp. Okay, now let’s get those forks out of the way. That’s it. Now you look more comfortable. Yeah, you can keep a few spoons right there in the middle if you want … for the time being.
What did you say? That word must be Swedish for apron. Nope, sorry. Nothing like that around here.
I have a tiny dishtowel somewhere. You can drape something with that, if you wish. Wouldn’t want you to get too warm here in the kitchen, if you know what I mean?
As I’m helping Inga arrange the smallest dishtowel I could locte, in walks Hazel … from the agency. “I’m sorry I’m late, but there’s a fire down the block. Couldn’t get through all the trucks.”
“You mean YOU’re the maid sent by the agency?”
“Of course! What did you expect? Some nearly naked blonde?” She turns and spots Inga. “Oh, did I interrupt something?”
“Well, I thought she was the maid, so we were going over her … uh, duties.”
“I doubt she could tell an oven from a blender, but I think I know who she is. I heard the firemen talking about her outside. She’s an exchange student from some Scandanavian country … she was taking a shower when the fire started. Poor thing had to dash away with no clothing. There’s three firefighters combing the neighborhood right now, looking for her.”
I’m so glad you approve, Jeff. It took me awhile to harvest a sexy FEMALE pic worthy of T-giving. The firemen were easy. Ha!
I love your creativity with this one. And the way you handle the first person alternately with dialogue, well done, my friend. The whole fantasy is super. You know, having a maid, and all. LOL!
Thanks, Jeff!!!
Jeff: LOL!
I can’t top that, but here goes anyhow:
Carrie was taking a coffee break from preparing Thanksgiving dinner. In between tying up the turkey legs and mixing the cheese sauce for the green-bean casserole, her mind took off to daydreaming about her other life.
Yes, there she was—the renowned woman warrior Carilla, the fiercest Amazon. The terror of any man who dared to penetrate her all-female realm. In either sense of the term.
She pictured Carilla squaring off against the enemy’s champion. Tomar the Fearless, the greatest swordsman of the patriarchal kingdoms, had challenged her to a duel. The two sides would make this mano-a-mano combat the only battle in their war, the one that would decide the fate of both. And it would be to the death.
Carilla faced Tomar with a glare that could have melted his sword. She slapped him with her gauntlet, as the traditional ritual required. Then he picked up a handful of dirt and threw it in her face, likewise.
Both griped their two-handed swords. Then, just as the herald overseeing the duel was about drop the banner, a voice rang out: “Honey, I’m home!”
Suddenly Carrie was back in the kitchen. Tom came in, kissing her as he stripped off his fireman’s turn-out. “What a day! Three fires because some idiots don’t know better than to drop a frozen turkey into a hot-oil fryer. And how’s your day been?”
Don’t all housewives daydream about their alter ego?
My name is Captain Hellcat, the lusty pirate wench who ‘saves’ wrongly imprisoned male slaves to do her bidding, whatever that may be.
LOL!
Love the whole warrior princess theme. It’s always a favorite of mine.
Thanks, Mary Anne! Always a pleasure reading your stories.
Glad to be on-board, Jenn. the kitchen warrior princess stimulates my, uh, creativity.
Mary Anne, that’s a great tie-in to the holiday.
Interesting phrasing: “penetrate her all-female realm”. Still chuckling.
If firemen looked like that in my town, I would be getting myself stuck in a tree so they could come rescue me!! My my my. Very nice to look at, indeed.