Down the Rabbit Hole

Leave It to Luck & Pirate Love and Broken Hearts

"Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise"
Day 3041--March 18, 2024
Prompt: Luck
Since it was St. Patrick's Day, yesterday, what do you think of the lucky Irish? Or if you wish, write your thoughts on the theme of luck and how it has played a role in your life.

I love the concept of the lucky of the Irish. My ancestors are French Canadian and, from what I can tell, none of them benefited from any culturally divined good fortune. I was always jealous of those who could claim Irish blood, with their "Kiss me I'm Irish" buttons and t-shirts. St Patrick's day always seemed like a fun holiday and the Irish appear to know how to enjoy life and have fun. I'm not sure I would attribute much to "luck" in my life. I'm a planner, and a plotter. I think that's true for a lot of people. I'd be largely uncomfortable leaving things to "luck". I must rather have a say in my own destiny. I wouldn't mind finding a pot of gold though...could really use something like that...



Blogging Circle of Friends "
Day 3445: March 18, 2024
Prompt: Use these words in your entry: silkworm, corruption, fledgling, rooster, coincidence, and wench.

Sir Henry Mack, the beautiful bantam rooster, perched outside her open window and crowed the sun into the sky as if his life depended on it.

Tonya was yanked from a particularly rousing dream where she'd been enjoying life as a busty pirate wench playing opposite to a dashing, dark pirate captain with a penchant for rum. Visions of the fledgling but spicy tryst faded as Sir Henry continued his unforgiving crowing assault. She sat up into a world of pain, courtesy of the bottle of Patron she'd managed to polish off last night in the wake of her latest breakup. Tonya had nursed her broken heart with expensive tequila, greasy tacos and a Pirates of the Caribbean marathon. It was no small coincidence that she'd spent the night fantasizing about pirate love on the high seas!

She dragged herself to her feet, swearing off cowboys and tequila as she padded to the window to toss a slipper at Sir Henry. Why did she do this to herself? What kind of corruption ate away at her heart, leading her again and again to the doorsteps of men who could not be true? Why did she insist on falling in love with men for whom she was never enough?

Somewhere in the distance, her cell phone chimed. She fumbled in the comforter until she found it. She noticed with a fresh bolt of heartache, that her screen saver was still a picture of Will from their last weekend getaway, shirtless and devastatingly handsome. Her stomach rolled and she fought past the urge to vomit. Tonya noticed she had a email notification from a [e-mail].

Who the hell still used aol? Tonya thought. She tore the comforter off the bed, wrapped in around her and opened the email.

You don't know me but I have a message for you from a mutual friend, the email began...