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Flash Fiction Challenge: I successfully wrote a short-short, within one, long, grammatically correct sentence.
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Romie, screaming for BubbleMint gum, hates most other flavors, except for being able to tolerate CitrusMint, as he, like his brother Zach, loves citrusy treats, namely, Lemon Heads, Sweet Tarts, Sour Patch Kids, and Ring Pops; he raves over the green Ring Pops, the ones conveniently advertised, opposite-side the register’s conveyer belt, knee-hi to me, on the third row of the check-out shelf in shiny, metallic green wrappers, drawing the attention of candy-loving youngsters, thus, complicating the grocery shopping experience of stalled parents whom aren’t so easily drawn to the nonsense placed on the one, two, three, four, five, six, wire shelves extending from the black candy/magazine rack that’s organizing this month’s editions of GQ, Essence, Vibe, and Sports Illustrated magazines, with Sports Illustrated showcasing Beyonce’ looking good in her bikini on their cover, good enough to make me buy a copy of In Shape Magazine, you know, to help me get rid of these last twenty pounds of unwanted booty, booty which is now jiggling because Romie is jabbing at my thigh, still begging for that damn BubbleMint gum, which he is not going to get, as I’ll also have to buy Zach a pack, and I’m not getting him anything after his performances in the dairy isle, throwing eggs, and in the produce section, taking it upon himself to sample some green, seedless grapes, of which, were protected from grim and the potential mishandling of customers, in a clear cellophane bag that keeps the grapes fresh and ventilated through its small crescent shaped air holes, air holes that were in tack prior to Romie having had tossed the bag to Zach, who of course, during my struggle to pry the bag from his grasp, wound up pulverizing the grapes, causing the juice to leak through the side air holes and onto his jacket, as well as, my new suede moccasins, all this, before I had the inclination to restrain the younger of the two, by seatbelt, into to the child seat of the pushcart, which was then, accidentally forced into the tropical fruits stand, where, totally embarrassed, I tossed a handful of bananas into the cart, not the expensive organically grown ones, but the Chiquita brand, the only sweet treats Zach and Romie will be allowed, as I don’t believe in rewarding bad behavior with candy, unless, in this case, it’ll make these two hellions shut up long enough for me to pay the “cashier-in-training”, the one who has no business working the express lane, no doubt, holding up the inevitable ass kicking these boys are going to get as soon as I get out of this store.
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