dreamszilla

Lisa is used to complying with her mother's expectations, until she meets Reilly, and things get more complicated. Image generated with OpenAI Nineteen years ago my mother - the former Miss Lenore Wilson of Laurel, Delaware - was the 1963 Miss Delmarva Poultry Princess, and this is what she has to say about being a beauty queen. No matter how flawless a woman might appear, Mother says, no matter how beautiful she might be, she's bound to have a run in her stocking, cellulite underneath her girdle, or some such imperfection you can always find if you look hard enough. Nowadays, Mother operates the New You! beauty parlor in the L-shaped attachment Daddy built onto the back of our house. Daddy is a volunteer firefighter and a Blue-Ribbon grower of laying hens, and he taught me the difference between the Virginia and the loblolly pine, both of which grow in the woods behind our chicken houses. But it's Mother's lessons on beauty and the fight against imperfection that ha...

A Romanian man looks back regretfully on his cruelty to his first wife and daughters. Image generated with OpenAI Early in the morning, Florea Ivașcu was already at the market, carefully arranging his goods on the stall and rubbing his hands with satisfaction as he waited for customers. He sold fruit and vegetables according to the season. At sixty-two, nothing kept him from being among the first market vendors to arrive and among the last to leave. All the produce he sold he bought from villagers who came into town to sell wholesale, then hurried back to their work in the countryside. Florea was not one of those farmers who worked their own land and sold what they themselves had grown. He simply bought at one price and sold by the kilo in order to make a little extra. Sometimes, when he ran out of stock, he would take his van through the villages, visiting certain growers to buy more produce. His world was there in the market, behind the stall, chatting with customers and other vendor...

Two very different cats, whose owners take them to the vets at the same time every year, form an unlikely friendship. Image generated with OpenAI I. The waiting room of the Happy Paws Veterinary Clinic was bright and scrubbed, with blanched wood floors and animal prints in plastic frames. Near the reception desk, a coffee maker gurgled. The smell of stale coffee mingled with the sharp aroma of antiseptic. The door opened and The Grand Dame entered, swinging an expensive pet carrier in her manicured hand. The carrier itself was cylindrical and emitted a faint, pulsing hum. Its transparent casing was spotless, every bolt, bushing, and LED light installed with precision. Inside, a regal Oriental Shorthair sat upright on his haunches, tail neatly coiled around his paws. His coat was pale and sleek, smooth as porcelain. His ears were oversized and sharply angled, rising from his skull like twin sails, alert to the slightest sound. The cat's name was Standish. With a level stare, he sc...