Journalistic Intentions

Olive

PROMPT: OLIVE

         

         

         

         

         

         

         Myrtle and Hester bounced on their toes. Every morning they gathered outside the dining room of the retirement home waiting for the doors to open. How long did it take for the girls to set a few tables? Myrtle muttered this like clock work.

         "They only need throw the basics down. I'm too old to care which spoon is which. I'll stir my tea with a fork."

         Hester conveyed understanding with her nod.

         Before she knew it a thought, an observation escaped from her mouth. Damn, what was that saying about loose lips? Why did she think out loud? At times things just blurted out before she could attempt to contain them.

         "What colour do you think that is?"

         Anticipating the possibility of a fresh, warm cinnamon roll Myrtle asked, "Huh?"

         Her friend pointed at the nearby hulk known as George.

         "See that booger hanging from his nose? Would you describe it as olive?"

         "I wish you wouldn't use that vulgar word, dear. We're all adults here. In answer to your question, yes, now I cannot unsee it. It's definitely green. Is it olive, perhaps. How can he not feel it? That blob is quivering on his upper lip."

Ever the teacher she once was, Myrtle stamped a foot and clapped her hands. The sudden noise startled the hungry throng. She wanted only one person's attention, but several pairs of eyes sought her out. Someone nudged her, but she ignored the jab. When George finally stared in her direction, Myrtle pantomimed swiping her nose. Surely the exaggerated motion would clue him in. A few hands rose to their respective noses. George chose not to play Simon Says.

         "How can he ignore it? It's just dangling there catching the light."

         "The real puzzler is why no one he's speaking with points it out. They're all mesmerized by it. Look, it jiggles when he joins in the conversation."

         Hester smothered a giggle.

         "This reminds me of a joke my granddaughter sputtered out. She laughed so hard. How do you make a tissue dance? Are you ready? Put a little boogie in it."

         "Har-dee-har. George's mucous monster is tap-dancing on his moustache. What are you doing? Digging for snacks? Come on, already. Open the doors. Our stomachs have flipped inside out."

         Hester shoved a hand into each of her pockets and scrabbled around.

         "I'm searching for a tissue for that poor man. I could sidle up to him and slip it into his hand. You'd let me know if my nose leaked, wouldn't you?"

         "Of course dear. What are friends for? Does Mildred need a new prescription?"

         Myrtle gazed upon the violet haired woman soaking up George's every, all be it scarce utterances. If ga-ga had a face, she was it. Lord, how she fawned over that man. She must know she batts her eyelashes constantly, like a tick. Myrtle shuddered.

         "Aha, I've found one!"

         Before Hester could object, Myrtle snatched the crumpled tissue and marched over to Mildred and her beau. With an unmistakable sniff she offered the flimsy paper to a glaring George. His bushy eyebrows jumped and he too sniffed as he accepted her proffering. The glistening, olive booger slithered back into its dark lair. Only a faint slime trail remained.

         A cheer signaled the dining hall's doors had finally swung open and the clump of seniors surged forth.

          Joining Hester, Myrtle quipped, "I hope they don't serve those runny, green eggs today. What's in them? Avocado?"

         (579 words)