I frowned at the numbers. “Huh. Well, that’s higher than expected, but I can get those down. I’ll join an aerobics class!”
The doctor blinked. “Ah, no. That’s not how this test works. These results indicate several severe personality disorders. You can’t get rid of those by exercis-”
“You’re right! No time like the present!” I exclaimed, leaping to my feet and flailing my limbs wildly. “One, hy-yah-yah! Two, hy-yah-yah! Come on, doc, count with me! Three, hy-yah-yah!”
He never did give me a lollypop. 😦
A semi-autobiographical rambling I came up with back in 2009. Follow our hero (me, of course) as she navigates the strange and exciting world of share-house living. Featuring a cast of lovable oddballs and told in adorably disjointed prose.
Written by B. Phillips
I stared. The dame in the mirror stared back. I tossed my head, she tossed hers (not in a gay way).
Looking good, Bridgey, I thought to myself, admiring the way my hair cascaded over pale shoulders, teasingly revealing just a hint of firm, supple breasts beneath the flowing locks. I eyed the rest of my reflection. Long, smooth legs, slim, taut stomach… Yes sir. Things were looking good. I slid a hand down, inching towards-
“Bridget!” A voice startled me, and I fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs. “Are you molesting the mannequin again?”
Original fiction. The first adventure of a little girl whose name we don’t know.
(Written by and Copyright B. Phillips, 2011)