Thanks to Mark Wildyr for his guest post last week. Just a reminder that DSP Publications is bringing out a revised edition of his novel, CUT HAND on October 31 of this year. Hope you will read it.
As for this week, let’s go for a little bit of fluff.
|Courtesy of Max Pixel|
|Courtesy of Cliparting.com|
Everyone said we belonged together. After all, her name was Honey (not a nickname), and mine was Bunny (really not a nickname—dammit). To be clear, she was Honey Bartholomew while I was saddled with Jonathan Throckmorton Bunny III. As if two of them weren’t enough, already. With a name like Jonathan, you’d think everyone would label me Jon, right?
Not so. Too much could be done with my last name. Like: Here comes Bunny hopping down the sidelines. Touchdown! I’d heard that one for two years now. I held a dance at our house once, but when everyone labeled it the Bunny hop, that was it. No more dances. My junior yearbook held a picture of a toothy rabbit standing on his hind legs eating a carrot labeled Our Jonathan.
To be fair, Honey didn’t have it much easier. She was always her daddy’s Honey Bee. The local librarian refused to issue her a card until she produced a birth certificate to prove Bunny was not a nickname. Of course, she was often Honey Bun, which morphed into Sticky Bun. She swore that if her Aunt Bertha said she was as sweet as her name one more time, she was going to stomp on the old gal’s ingrown toenail.
Alas, the thing that pulled us together ultimately drove us apart. Our names. One too many times she heard that refrain Look, there’s Honey Bunny and announced we were through, finished. Kaput. After loudly proclaiming she wasn’t shallow enough to let that tear our relationship asunder, I finally became convinced she was.
So Honey moved on to a guy who was named John Jaar. Couldn’t she see what was rolling down the pike at her?
That was all right. I hooked up with a gal I’d had my eye on for a while, a perky brunette named Mildred Bugsliatta. Unfortunately, everyone in school, including the teachers, called her Bugs.
Wow! Where did that come from? To be honest, I have no idea. I just woke up one day, and there it was rattling around in what’s left of my brain. Let me know what you think of this rant at email@example.com.
As the March 21 release date of The City of Rocks approaches, I’d like to give you my contact information and the DSP Publications links:
Don Travis Email: firstname.lastname@example.org
Facebook: Don Travis
Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-city-of-rocks-don-travis/1126419974
As always, thank for being a reader.
New blogs are posted at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.