Sunday Morning


By Tom Minder*

The husband, dressed in his Sunday finest and sporting a neatly trimmed white moustache, looked over his wife’s shoulder. His jaw dropped. “Honey,” he said. “That man who greeted us on the way in just grabbed his chest, made an awful face, and slumped over.”
The wife looked up and focused on the wall-length mirror opposite her husband. “Goes to show ya.”
The husband stared back at his wife uncertain how to respond.
A woman tending to the stricken man shouted, “Someone call 911!”
The wife glanced down. “She forgot my scrapple.”
*Tom Minder lives in Gloucester County, NJ. His work has appeared in CommuterLit, Fiction on The Web, and will soon appear in 101 Words.

2 thoughts on “Sunday Morning

  1. Wicked wit, even if ‘scrapple’ has people scrambling for their dictionaries. I presume the ‘woman tending to the stricken man’, is the ‘she’ who hasn’t delivered the scrapple?


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