Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: YEAR (05/17/18)
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TITLE: Just one more | Previous Challenge Entry
By ted staller jr
05/23/18 -
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January’s chill is tempered by warm thoughts of new beginnings. Hot passions quicken our resolve. No dreary determinations here, no room for wimpy weak-willed wann-a-be’s. Only those with stout hearts and a fixed gaze will find success in this years round of new years resolutions.
I resolve to give up those potato chips once and for all. Those dastardly delicious, succulently salty, sliced thin to win, pieces of paradise have made me a prisoner for far too long. You know, I can’t go a day without them. They talk to me, really, they do. They have a language all their own, with just one letter … mmmm and I’m undone. One hasn’t lived until they’ve had their fill of these deep-fried diamonds.
I feel gorged with will power as January comes and goes without incident. February is a mercifully short month so no problems there. March and April find me second guessing my resolution. Time seems to be slowly eroding my will power, my gaze ebbs abit. I can no longer go through the snacks aisle at the super market without the shakes. I notice a longing in my heart, like one feels when contact is cut off with a comfortable friend.
May. Oh-oh, the first summer picnic. My mind races … maybe I should stay home that day, or perhaps arrive late after the cookout. Maybe I can fast that day or eat before I go. How can I resist? What strategy will work?
I resolve to go and rest in my will power that has been golden since day one. Oh, I’ve had days of temptations all right, some days were really hard but so far so good, my year is pure.
We arrive and mingle with family and friends. I see an old classmate from school and we find a corner and jibber-jabber like a couple of clucking hens. I’m very much at ease, and I find myself confident in my ability to maintain my purity. Lunch is announced, and I find myself in line.
First the plate, utensils and a napkin. With two steps more I find burgers aglow. A long side-step presents macaroni and potato salad. Fried chicken, baked potatoes and corn on the cob round out the main fare. Then I hear it. I turn to my friend and ask him if he heard it too. He expresses puzzlement. “Hear what?” he asks. “With all these people here and the kids running around I can’t hear myself think.” I whisper in his ear; “It’s not that kind of a sound.” “Listen with your eyes” I tell him.
Both our eyes level on the bountiful bowl of chips together. He’s aware of my resolution and he grabs my arm. My friend quips “yes, I can hear it now.” Ever the playboy, he retrieves his napkin and wipes my brow, snaring a few beads of sweat along the way. He gives me a wink and says, “let’s just move along and grab some drinks”. I whole heartedly agree, and we make a speedy exit from the food table.
We talk for a while longer, stopping at times, to watch the kids play. Somehow this one young girl was able to wrestle a squirt gun away from three other boys who had just earlier been chasing her around. Now she had the upper hand and she was making the most of it. I think the boys suffered more from embarrassment then wetness. She garnered quite the attention as she ran in and out between the tables, chasing down one boy after the other.
About now, I’m feeling pretty good about myself. Mentally giving myself a high five for not succumbing to the temptation. I passed the challenge; my purity is intact. Its soon time to go and all is well.
A loud bang pierces the air. I turn and see chicken wings flying through the air. Baked potatoes are acting like pitched baseballs. Plates float as frisbees and I’m reminiscing of a food fight we had during high school. Then I realize in an attempt to outrun the squirt gun totting Annie Oakley this boy crashed into the food table. Food went everywhere, including the chips.
Like a laser, our eyes lock. This golden tanned gift of heaven was just inches from me now. Its curvaceous curves had me. I could hear this succulently salted gem as it whispered in its own language … mmm.
Well, there’s always next year.
Just one more.
Please?
* * *
"But be not far from me, O Lord; O my Help, hasten to aid me!"
Psalm 22:19 (AMP)
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you eventually succumbed but
sometimes we need more than
one attempt before we succeed.
Keep on writing and being
strong.