San Diego Momma assigned the following exercise for PROMPTuesday #6:
For this PROMPTuesday, I’d like us to experiment with being someone else for awhile.
Write in another voice — someone completely opposite from you (i.e. an oil tycoon, a four-year-old kid, a drunk dog) and argue in favor or opposition to something outlandish which should be legalized or outlawed (i.e. the oil tycoon might argue that all environmental groups be declared unconstitutional, the four-year-old may advocate mandatory dessert after dinner, etc.).
This could be fun, no?
All right. Here are the rules:
You must write your entry in 10 minutes. This encourages top-of-mind, primal thinking before the ego and judgmental brain kicks in. Just set a timer, make your kid count to 600 slowly, whatever. It’s an honor system. And I trust you.
Keep to 250 words or less.
So . . . comes now my PROMPTuesday #6 . . .
I’m always the piggy that has to go to the market. I never get to stay home, have roast beef or not, or even say “wee wee wee” all the way home. All I ever do is go to the market.
Because I’m the biggest and have to foot (no pun intended) the bill at the market, I ought to have a little authority along with the responsibility. For example, I should decide what color I will be painted. And because the other piggies never leave my sight, they have to match me. I say no French tips for us. French tips are for fingers, not toes. And it’s high time that someone had the gumption to speak up and say so. Also, personally, I don’t like pink. Pink piggies are so clichéd. I want to be fire-engine red. Or a sparkly, sassy shade of purple. No exceptions.
Since we are on the subject of what I like and don’t like, no more Crocs. They make me sweat. And I once saw a picture of Dubya wearing Crocs. ‘Nuff said. Since I’m a California piggy born and raised, I prefer UGG boots in winter and flip-flops in summer.
Finally, would a pedicure now and then be too much to ask? I like being soaked, massaged, and my nail trimmed short, filed smooth, and jam free. Do this for me or as Dr. Scholl is my witness, my nail will become ingrown and I’ll never go to the market again.