Hey, I was out walking today and found my "Foreign Language" drabble.

I wish the telemarketers would stop calling.

I wish that when someone dials the wrong number, they wouldn’t ask me what number this is, who I am, what number they should call.

I wish they wouldn’t stop me in the store to get me to buy their product. I wish people would stop telling me my headlights are on. I wish they would stop asking me directions. I wish people wouldn’t ask me about my baby, whether he’s sleepy or shy; I wish they’d stop giving me parenting advice.

I wish they’d quit talking to me, because I can’t answer.

Raq, I love that.

Jewelry.

Skin

A warm summer night, moon stitched against darkness. It's you and me. Outside is the rest of the world but right now, sod that, it's you and me.

Naked? Yes. It's me and my skin, and what you've been doing since the cab from the airport dropped you off; this is me, sweat pooling on hairline, below breasts, dotting and glistening on collar and cheekbones.

You touch your tongue to each, diamonds made of me, laughing down into my face. Later, falling asleep, I remember what you said as I clung to you: you look like you're made of pearl.

100 words, including title.

The Jewelry You’re Wearing Right Now

A plain gold band and a matching diamond solitaire. White gold – yellow looks bad against my skin and platinum, the saleswoman assured us, scratches fast and looks dull. I have a certificate somewhere declaring that it’s not a “crisis diamond”, but otherwise I am unsure of its ethical provenance.

I haven’t welded them together, or whatever jewelers do to make two separate rings one unified set. With every movement of my hand they rub against one another, slowly eroding. They grind away their own gold, losing value, mass, integrity.

I have to fix that.

A solid silver band gleams dully on my finger. A simple onyx square set in it does not reflect the light.

A gift from Fran.

Carved marcasite hoops set with tiny twinkling garnets swing from my ears. The garnets are the color of my hair.

A gift from Heather.

An elaborate silver anklet, swirling with vaguely Celtic designs, circles my left ankle.

A gift from Jen.

And from a long chain hangs an amber-colored citrine, setting topped by a dot of a garnet, red as the last drop of blood from a dragon's heart.

A gift from my parents.

I have embellished myself with love.

Not even close to 100:

Bright silver ovals, reflecting the light, graceful twisting silver filigree to hold them in place, silver to flatter my skin and my hair: my glasses are the only adornment I wear every day.

It's Monday, isn't it?

Challenge #122 (the jewelry you're wearing) is now closed.

Challenge #123 is the first bite.

eta: hehe. I got the numbering screwed up last week. Oops.

Or maybe crickets...

Folks off playing yesterday. They'll be back today. This one's rough and needs some work, but I can't figure out what to cut. 133 words:

The First Bite

Throw a line in the water and wait, crank it back slowly, the lure wiggling its yellow iridescent tail through the murky water like some irresistible fish-dream. Hour after hour, from spot to spot of shade over submerged trees, the boys try to mimic Dad.

The boat comes back to the cove and the younger child runs to cannonball into the water, Dad heads for the tent for a nap, keys given to the elder child for his first solo trip across the narrow channel, into the cove opposite, to the best fishing spot.

We hear the boat returning in less than five minutes. It beaches, the motor cuts out, and footsteps pound up the trail to the campsite.

"Dinner," he shouts, grinning and wide-eyed, a two-foot fish in his hand, "is served!"

Thanks Beverly.