by Matt Potter
Home sweet hoe, it said in red stitching.
Her ancestors weren't great spellers but who cares when it's worth a bucket of money.
Took it to the framers after I found it in her old girl's shed. “Need this framed yesterday,” I said, thumping the counter. Two hours later had a massive gold frame with flowers and shit all over it. Scratched it up a bit so made it look old and the auction bloke fell for it.
“It's not spelled right,” I said. In case he didn't know.
“The mistake gives it its value,” he said.
“Well, the wife's family weren't too bright in the upstairs department, if you know what I mean.”
Took it home, banged a nail in the wall and stuck it up.
Janice's jaw dropped when I told her how much we could get for it. “Enough to never work again and get a nice new pair of these,” I said, squeezing her tits.
And the wife said the same that night when she got home from shotput practice.
But Janice didn't want to wait. “When am I gonna get my new tits?” she said.
Booked tickets to Bali and got Janice a perm. Told 'em at work I wouldn't be in Monday.
Went to grab it from the wall but only the frame was there, and a note.
Sold the cross-stitch and have run off with Barb my shotput coach. We're somewhere on the Great Ocean Road, ya miserable fuck!
Went to work Monday.
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This was written for Week #50 of '52 / 250 A Year of Flash' (theme: home sweet home). I blanched when I read the theme, and remained stumped for ages ... but then this story started forming ...