Twittering Tales #102 – Broken Barbies – 18 September 2018

It’s time again for Kat Myrman’s wonderful challenge to tax our creative souls. Just take her photo prompt and write a story, inspired by it, in 280 characters or fewer.

barbie-dolls-blond-broken-1376771Photo by Skitterphotos at Pexels.com

Here is this week’s prompt and my contribution. Check out all the fabulous entries here.

Firstly Kat wrote her story:

Smart Girls

“This is exactly how I found them Doctor. I don’t know what to think! Should I be worried that my sweet daughter has mangled her Barbie dolls?”
“Have you asked her?”
“I did. She told me she hated Barbie. Who hates Barbie?”
“Smart little girls, Mrs. Jones. I hope you’re listening.”

~kat

(278 Characters)

Smart Girls Part 2

I was not convinced by the doctor’s comments, so I asked for a second opinion.  A lovely lady offered her services pro bono.

“Don’t worry Mrs Jones,” she said. “Have you checked the liquor cabinet? I think all young girls lose their heads some times. She just got a little legless!”

(277 characters)

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Song Lyric Sunday Theme for 05/08/2018

img_1345-3Despite Helen being in vacation mode she still manages to come up trumps and give us our weekly joy of SLS.

This week is “drink”. Never one to refuse a challenge, or a drink, I’ve chosen Ben Johnson’s 1616 poem “Song. To Celia.”

I know what you’re thinking. Has he gone mad? Truth is NO, I’ve always been this way!

If you read the Wikipedia page you will discover that I’m offering you the song Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes. It has been recorded by many singers but I’m giving you what I consider is the best, by Paul Robeson, with a vastly different one to compare.

I do hope you enjoy them!

Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss within the cup,
And I’ll not ask for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honoring thee
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not withered be.
But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent’st it back to me;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.

The alternative is by Laura Wright.