Frowzy

This is the time of year when the Annabelle blooms 

I dried and displayed in the fall start to get all ...

frowzy. 

Covered with a thin sheen of dust and quite faded, 

there's just no way to fix these problems. 

Soon they'll be decorating the garbage can. 

New blooms are just around the corner, though ...

More on Annabelles here, here and here. 

*****

Is it strange that those hydrangea heads inspired a 
story snapshot? 

Frowzy

     Doris flipped the visor mirror of her 1995 Toyota Camry back into place. She gripped the steering wheel and pressed her forehead into her knuckles. Behind the front door of her home, shrill terrier yips beat a methodical cadence loud enough to reach inside her driveway-parked car. She had to face it: this wasn't going to get any better.

    The unfamiliar feeling of cool air against her neck surprised her again—just as  it had when she left the hair salon this afternoon. Stepping out of her car, she shook her head, scattering waves of chemical fragrance, then shut the car door and locked it. Her Saturday trip to the Anita Cut Salon on 2nd Street for a "new leaf" transformation turned out to be a lesson on the danger of spontaneity. She'd felt the warning twitch in her right eyelid but gave it no heed as Jack-Qua-Lyn rushed her toward a chartreuse plastic chair. Five hours later and fifty dollars poorer, a wiser Doris climbed the steps to her front door.

     Twinkie's nose brushed her foot when she stepped inside; her husband's dog was always glad to see her. Doris pocketed her car keys and bent to greet the suddenly silent pet. Confusion twisted Twinkie's wiry brow, and he backed away instead of jumping into her arms for kisses. With loud whimpers, he turned tail and fled to his favorite hiding place under the dining room table. 

      Doris stood under the bewildered gaze of her husband. "Well? What do you think of my hair?" 

     His eyebrows floated toward his hairline. "Ummmm ... " He blinked hard once, no, twice—there—three times. "Well ... do you like it?" He swallowed and blinked again. "I mean, is that what you ... wanted?" Twinkie slunk forward to cautiously re-investigate her shoe and identify this frowzy impostor. 

     "Yes," she squeaked in a voice that even she didn't recognize. Giving her now-damp foot a sharp flick, she choked, "It's exactly what I wanted."

* Wordless Wednesday