Friday Fictioneers–The Sangria

“He dropped me when I was forty. She was even younger,” said the lite beer motioning towards a Scotch-rocks at a nearby table, “I bet he’s already got another one lined up.”

“Why would he leave me for her?” wailed the marguerite, eyeing a tall sangria.

“Quiet. Here she comes.”

The sangria joined them under the yellow umbrella on the patio, the silence as icy as the fresh round of drinks.

“I suggest we work together,” said the sangria, smiling a Cheshire cat smile, “The bastard will be asleep by ten.”

“I’ll bring the shovel,” said the lite beer.

4 thoughts on “Friday Fictioneers–The Sangria”

  1. I think I used the wrong box too – Sorry – but this is a cute story – and funny. Maybe a bartender (?) was listening to a conversation by women in the bar and named them by their orders. I, myself, am a Double Vodka lime. Really good!

  2. Dear Kay,

    I made a comment but think I used the wrong box. So if you get two from me you’ll know why. I said that your story gives new meaning to the term “Evil Spirits.” Nice one.



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