"Our Gophers are definitely being outplayed today," the announcer remarks.
"Did anyone really think the Gophers would triumph over the Groundhogs? A gopher is about an eighth of the size of a woodchuck" she said, out loud, even though she had been commanded to be silent.
He stood. He walked over. He shouted,
"Woodchucks are not groundhogs!"
into her left ear.
She calmly poured that first cup of coffee in the morning, turned to face him, and said
"No one said they were dear."
Bobbie went to the table, picked up the paper, lifted it to obscure her vision of George still standing at the sink, and gave it a good snap. The kind of newspaper-in-front-of-the-face snap that is intended to end a conversation.
We know that in 1871, while still grieving for his first wife, he set a record for planting corn. These words in the science times section of the NYTimes swam before Bobbie’s eyes. Tuesdays were her favorite day of the week, and here a casual comment about a local sports event had ruined her morning with the roadie she’d picked up the day before. He would clearly be leaving a bit sooner than the others.
George was an empath. He could feel the love factor drain into the ether. He knew he had screwed up, again. This time he hadn’t even lasted 24 hours before getting apoplectic about the differences among gophers, groundhogs and woodchucks. How was she to know this was a trigger for him? George took a moment to inhale, another moment to exhale, and quietly muttered the mantra he and his therapist had worked out to calm him down whenever someone compared groundhogs to woodchucks.
“It matters not what the groundhog be”
Bobbie usually left her slippers at her bedside, nice and orderly and ready to hop into in the morning, but this morning she found her red slippers on the doorstep. She took this as a clue to start writing some freewrite poetry instead of a story, because this collection of weekend freewrite prompts is diabolical, and she/I have no choice but to write a nonsensical poem, which is a lot harder than one might think to write.
The gopher left his slippers
on the doorstep one night
confounding the woman
he’d picked up in a fight
tossed over his shoulder and took to her bed
then woke in the morning
with a feeling of dread
that the woodchuck was coming
to knock at the door
and would growl at his visage
before barfing on the floor
at the doorstep right next to the slippers
the gopher’s favorite of them all
while his lover of last night
read the paper and sulked
over corn and long dead wives
whose husbands had done this or that
but corn tastes really good
which both woodchucks and gophers agree on
so out they both went to take a quick friendly walk
down the streets of Victorian London
to buy each other a corndog
whatever that is
This is my two-day-late entry to 
Notice for Newbies on Hive
Real people read your posts in this community! There are no rules!!! A post doesn't suck up your entire day!!!! You can safely let your imagination take flight! You will feel the love!
Try to remember to leave a link under
To maximize readership, you might also post in the Freewriters Community (or 
We are good people, it's a no judgment zone, and is an excellent community to get your feet wet on Hive.
image is a free one from pixabay