Not This Again


Aunt Anne had spent the prize money many times over before she even entered the contest. Mother was worried about her.

“She’s always been like this,” Mother said over breakfast. “The cart before the horse.”

“Hmm hmm,” said father. He had his face in the paper, clearly not listening.

Dottie knitted her brows. “What’s that mean, Mommy? The horse car?”

“It means counting your chickens before they’re hatched,” said Eileen. She was a year older and liked to lord over her sister whenever possible.

“What if she doesn’t win?” I asked, genuinely curious. Aunt Anne, to my knowledge, had never done much of anything. In fact, other than church, she never left the house.




Sunday Photo Fiction