Tag Archives: fairy godboyfriend

Happy Valentine’s Week – Day Four

Happy Valentine’s Week from the Waterworld Mermaids!!!

Here in our lovely mermaid lagoon, we are all abuzz with the holiday of love. And because we’re in such a happy mood, we wanted to share some stories and memories from mermaid-pasts. Best of all, we’re celebrating all week long! We hope you enjoy!

Love can be messy.  It’s not always presented to us neatly, wrapped all pretty with a cute little bow on top. But there are those people, and those precious moments, that remind us it’s all worth it….


Sunday Afternoon
Susan Andrews

She’d been cutting his hair for years.  Well, not all the years – there was the time she’d put a ten dollar bill in his hand and, at his look of surprise, said, “It’s a gift.  You’re going out.”  Then deflated his pleasure when she added, “For a haircut.”  But that was long ago.  After so many years together, things were different.  No more surprises in this marriage.

Now she cut it again.  Every few weeks, she would notice the sparse hair on the top of his head resembled dandelion fluff.  He was an easy man to please, and shorter was better.  They’d gotten used to the occasional fumbles, the one spot that got away every time and spoiled the symmetry.  His hair was too fine for a perfect haircut, and his simple gratitude for any style that didn’t include a comb-over was sufficient.

They worked well together.  She got out the sheet and kicked aside the bathroom rugs.  He retrieved a kitchen chair and shed his flannel shirt.  They understood the need for cooperation.  Things worked better that way.

The clipper (bought for their son’s first haircut long ago) ran up the back of his head, the hairs making a pleasant brrrrrr asthey succumbed to the blade’s vibration.  The fluff fell against her hand, tickling at her fingers.  It cascaded down across his shoulders, a mix of dark and gray hairs.  Gone.  The curls she’d played with, the widow’s peak.  What was left?

“Your hair still grows fast. It’s long enough in the back to curl a little.”  Brrrrrrr.

“There’s not enough to let it be long.  Shorter is better.”

“Hmmm.  Tip your head?”  She pressed a hand against his temple and felt its warmth under her fingertips.  His head angled to one side as he waited for her to carve the outline around his ear.  Don’t knick the ear.  She coached herself through the steps.  Back. Change. Front.

Especially since she loved that ear.  The pretty shell, so neatly formed, delicate in contrast to the musculature of the man.  Not as pretty now, with the lobe gone fleshy.  Still…

She bent, her hands braced against his shoulder, and kissed the ear.  He flinched under the sheeting, surprised.  She’d broken the pattern.  Awkward, having to crouch, but her lips found the tip and pressed against it again.

She stood again, met his eyes in the mirror.  “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”  He couldn’t move, his body shrouded in a twin-size sheet.  She could, though, and bent to kiss his lips.  A good match.  All these years, and she was surprised that she still believed in the us they’d become.  “She chose wisely,” she joked against his lips.

She felt his mouth curve under hers.  “He got lucky.”

She laughed and set the clipper down, picked up the brush to flick the stray bits from his neck and face.  “We could both get lucky if you help me clean this up.”

He pushed against the twin sheet as she unwound it, scrubbed his hands against his face and down his neck.  Then he stood to wrap her in his arms.  Warm, firm, strong.  His hands found the muscles in her back that were too-often tight and soothed them.

“Thanks.”  His lips still had the power to send a spiral down into her tummy.  He lifted his head.  “Pizza for dinner?”


“Me.”  His hand trailed down her side and tickled under the hem of her shirt.  A promise.  “I’ll get the broom.”

She knew she would find the one spot on his head that had escaped her.  At some point in the evening, she would run her hand across the crown of his head and find the baby-fine patch that had hidden.  Unruly.  Disobedient.  Sooner or later, she would have to deal with it.

Later on, she found it.  “There it is.”  Their feet were tangled in the blankets, their hands still exploring.

“Oh.”  His eyes were lazy now, but amused.  “You found the spot?”

“It got away from me.”  She nudged the puff of hair.  “I’ll have to get the scissors out.”

He slipped his hands under her and kissed her again.  “Do it later.”


We hoped you enjoyed our stories this week. We loved sharing them with you! Come back tomorrow for a fantastic giveaway!



Opening Salvo

My boyfriend Joe (whom some of you may know as The Fairy GodBoyfriend) and I were talking in the car Saturday morning on the way home from the Adam Ezra concert in Lancaster, PA. Thanks to a considerable lack of both sleep and caffeine I can’t remember what got us onto the particular subject, but Joe made a comment about how he’s not a real talkative fellow. He’s just not the kind of guy who goes out of his way to introduce himself to everyone at the party. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Like everything men say, Joe’s statement is true…to a point. Joe has no problem talking to strangers. None at all. In fact, he enjoys it. If I ever leave him by himself at a party–or a line at Best Buy–he will inevitably be chatting with the person next to him upon my return. He’s not antisocial; he just doesn’t make the first move.

Joe has two major advantages: 1.) He recognizes and accepts that he is not the kind of guy who makes the opening move and 2.) He has an incredibly dark, sharp, and dry wit. So here’s what Joe does. He stands alone, aloof, watching the world around him. Inevitably something happens, about which Joe makes a fabulously snide comment that would have Lewis Black and Denis Leary fighting for a pen to write down. Someone within earshot hears this comment and laughs. Nine times out of then, this person comments back to Joe.

And lo, the conversation has started.

As I write this now, it occurs to me: I’m not even sure Joe realizes that he does this. It’s just second nature to him. People all over the world wrestle every day with how to start a conversation–whether it’s with the cute girl at the bar, or the electric company representative on the phone. I grew up in a clique of nerds and continue to frequent science fiction conventions like they’re going out of style. I am constantly surrounded by the socially awkward (and I treasure every single one of them). If these folks only knew Joe’s secret! (Many of them do–they’re just not as witty as Joe.)

As writers, some of us struggle with dialogue. What’s the first thing your character says? What is she reacting to? What is he wondering about? Is it something important, or is it just there to move the plot along. Is there more story being told between the lines, or is it just a bunch of lame tagging? (I hate “stage directions”.) Worst of all–is it there at all, or are you just telling us that someone spoke? (Show! Don’t Tell!)

For some of writers, dialogue is second nature. It flows off the tongue like water off a duck’s back. (Granted, those of us usually have issues elsewhere–like with descriptions. Oh, descriptions, how you are the bane of my existence!)

Dialogue is the lifeblood of your story. It tells the reader what your character sounds like–the cadence of his voice, the tone she uses, the slang words, the colloquialisms. Dialogue tells us how your character feels about other characters, and about the world in general. It tells us how your character would react given a certain situation. (Don’t go for the obvious reaction–go crazy! It’s more fun!) Dialogue makes your character allies and enemies. It burns bridges and mends fences. It is–usually–where we fall in love.

I fell in love with Joe, after all.

But every conversation has to start somewhere. What are your opening salvos? What do they say about your character? What’s your favorite snappy bit of dialogue?