My Cardboard Balcony

Short, Stout, and Happy by Belinda Roddie Short, stout, and happy was Jennifer Hyde, who lived on the west side of old town shops and abandoned railroad tracks. Beautiful was her face, red her hair, ruddy her cheeks, and very, very blue her eyes. Yes, she could barely reach the steering wheel of her car, and she carried pockets of pudge around her hips and belly, but she was a large bundle of enthusiasm. So when the handsomest guy asked her out to the prom, ev'ryone expressed such shock at the pairing, but both of them were thrilled. To meet someone who loved her just for her made Jennifer short, stout, and happier. 

A girl trying to figure out a science clue on a crossword while drinking a cider and eating a slice of four cheese pizza is trying to pet her oh-so-eager-for-scraps dog with the big toe on her left foot. Only she can't reach his head, so she ends up stroking the excess fur and skin gathered around his neck, which she and her family lovingly call a wattle. The dog does not seem to mind.

Bottle of Fireworks by Belinda Roddie No corkage fee. No extra cost. Just untwist the cap and watch the ribbons fly. Take a drink, and you will feel the sparks deep in your stomach. A pinwheel of glee in a flask of shine; hot, fiery dragons with patriotic steam bursting from their nostrils. And even with the cheesy music in the background, you don't forget your first swallow of fireworks, and you certainly don't remember your last.

When Gary wanted to buy a brand new modem, he went to the largest corporate store to get it. But when he got for about forty dollars, it wouldn't connect properly. And when it wouldn't connect properly, he called the corporate tech support. When he called the corporate tech support, he was greeted by a low, silky operator's voice, and he promptly fell in love. And after he fell in love, he found the tech support vicinity in Houston, Texas and asked the stout woman out for dinner.

When Cheese Isn't Enough by Belinda Roddie What sad soul came up with that? What do you do when cheese isn't enough? Do they just eat slices of plastic American in between long spells of hibernation? What do you do - cheese is always enough! Nothing like a curt Pepper Jack to go with that nightly glass of riesling or white zinfandel; a serene Gruyere in onion soup to soothe an aching head with a strong cider in frost. The sharp Cheddar swelling in bubbly broth on french bread just broiled in the toaster oven you have sandwiched between the coffee maker and the refrigerator. The king of the world should have every helping of Swiss curdled bliss. Happy Havarti with a greens garnish. Melted Mozzarella smothered beneath oodles of olive oil and diced tomatoes. Blessed Brie with crackers. Gouda-laden macaroni. Asiago bagels. And every variety of goat's generosity. Anywhere you go, it follows you - the aged splendors in Paris with baguettes, the wonder...

The railroad tracks had been there longer than I could ever imagine, but no trains rolled on it these days. Not since the fire choked the station with its smoldering fingers and dragged the wooden splinters into the dirt. The frame was strangely intact, but inside, it was gutted. Completely gutted. No one had attempted to bring the trains back. And as such, I intended to travel south on those abandoned tracks.

5 AM Bailey's by Belinda Roddie Irish cream isn't enough to wake me up, even with coffee, splinters of sugar, cinnamon, and croissants. It is ungodly early, and I am tired, and the morning doesn't suit me when I am a nocturnal creature. I'd rather stay up until the sunrises and sleep for the most boring part of the day until I can drink liqueur on ice and cuddle with mo chuisle into the wee hours of the AM.