Published short stories




A scientist, I am not! Words of wisdom are usually passed on by those who have already screwed up. I am certainly no exception.


(Added 10/22/12)

Have you ever wondered what would happen if you removed a can of soda from the refrigerator and dropped in on a tiled kitchen floor?

When burning questions like that pop up, you can find the answer one of two ways. You can EXPERIMENT by dropping your own can of soda on your own kitchen floor, OR you can RESEARCH your question and ask others who may have already completed research in this important area.

I suggest RESEARCH and I know the perfect person for you to interview first ................... ME!

When a soda can slips from your hand and falls to the tiled kitchen floor, it EXPLODES and sprays sticky Coca Cola from head to toe and ceiling to floor,,,,,,,,,,, into the crack between the refrigerator door and freezer door, under the stove, and even in between the pages of the phone book, if you happen to keep that book anywhere near the kitchen. The spray is even strong enough to fly into the next room, falling onto all those surfaces and soaking into all those little cracks and creases.

The only thing to do is grab a mop, paper towels, spray cleaners, maybe even a bucket of paint and a paint brush for the walls, and go to work. During this frenzy of cleaning you will probably hear tiny little ant voices in the distance saying something like "COME ON BOYS, FREE DRINKS, FOLLOW ME!"

After the kitchen and surrounding rooms are cleaned, throw yourself, completely dressed with your eye glasses ON, into the shower because you will surely be a sticky mess. By the time you've showered, the kitchen floor should be dry and you can perform the Cleanliness Test, which everyone knows is to walk on your floor with bare feet. If you don't stick, it's clean.

I've just completed the first portions of this exciting experiment, now it's time for my shower, followed by the Cleanliness Test. (And there'd better not be any bugs in there looking for refreshments!)

© copyright 2010 by Donna Hale Chandler



Dating as a 'senior' may be different than it was when we were teenagers but it is just a nerve wracking.



(added 2/11/13)

No, I'm not talking about my first date as a teenager.  My teen years were a VERY long time ago.  I'm talking about my first date as a senior citizen.  I know, that's a scary thought.  My 'second' first date was even more terrifying than my 'first' first date.


Almost two years after the death of my husband, I decided to be brave and register on-line with one of those 'dating sites.'  They're supposed to be able to find your perfect match.  I wasn't looking for a replacement for my husband.  I was simply looking for a gentleman with whom I could occasionally have dinner or maybe with whom I could go out dancing. Basically, I was looking for someone to make me laugh every once in a while. 


For quite a while, I was pretty leery about the men who contacted me, but finally I agreed to meet "Jack" for dinner.  I was an absolute nervous wreck.  Was I going to meet an ax murderer?  I told everyone that I knew exactly where I'd be, just in case I should disappear.  I wanted them to know where to send the  search party.


It was August and I live in Florida.  If you haven't been to Florida in August, just imagine the hottest day you can, then add another 20 degrees.


There was a car show in a nearby town.  We roamed along the streets looking at old cars until I thought I'd surely die of heat stroke.  Finally he suggested that we find a place for dinner, which certainly sounded like a grand idea to me.  As long as there was air conditioning and a place to sit down, I was agreeable.


The restaurant that he chose was very nice. They even had real flowers in bud vases on the table and cloth napkins (which of course always says 'classy joint').  It seemed that it was especially crowded; evidently we weren't the only ones trying to find a cool place for an hour or so.  We were seated at a small table for two near the window.  The waiter took our order and we quietly sat there staring into space hoping our food would arrive soon.  We'd each pretty much run out of small talk and as the silence lengthened, my nervousness increased considerably.

Finally our meal was brought to our table.  I reached for my glass of Diet Coke to add some moisture to my dry throat just as I heard “Jack” say, "I'm looking for a wife.  Are you looking for a husband?”


There's nothing quite like getting right to the point.  I guess he was thinking that at our ages, we don't have time to wait around for long.


I'm sure it must have been some sort of a spasm, but the next few minutes aren't very clear in my mind.  It was very much like one of those old episodes of I Love Lucy. First, I dropped my drink into my lap, soaking my nice white shorts.  The instant that ice cold liquid hit my legs, I leaped up from my seat.  This jostled the table and sent his glass of sweet iced tea crashing to the floor, where it broke into hundreds of pieces and sent sticky tea flying in all directions. Was I finished with my destruction?  At this point, no I was not!  As I grabbed for one of those nice cloth napkins, I knocked over the bud vase that sat in the middle of the table, spilling icky daisy water into Jack's plate.


Instantly the entire restaurant was as quiet as church, while all the patrons craned their necks to see what the crazy lady over by the window was doing.


Staff came running from all directions, one with a mop, one with a broom for the broken glass, one to usher us away from the destroyed table to a clean dry one on the other side of the restaurant and the rest just to 'appear' to be helpful.

I was so embarrassed that I had yet to speak.  Finally when conversation was once again buzzing around us and the employees had returned to their regular duties, I raised my eyes to see if Jack was still there.  I fully expected that during the confusion he had taken the opportunity to distance himself from this insane lady by fleeing the scene.


Surprisingly he was still there. I couldn't read the expression on his face, and I seemed to have lost the ability to speak.  He calmly picked up his fork and said, "Well, I think I'll take that as a no."


We actually had a nice meal and each went to our separate homes.  Strangest thing, though, I never did get another dinner invitation from “Jack.”  And it was quite a while before I got up the courage to try this dating business one more time. 


I was concerned that I just might not survive a THIRD first date.


© copyright 2010 by Donna Hale Chandler