I didn't get much done today... my back was aching like nobody's business and I could barely think let alone write.

Panadol did nothing. A super strong chamomile tea did nothing except make me gag when I sculled it down. Two boiling hot showers did nothing. Lying down, sitting, standing, walking, bending over backwards, keeling over forwards, nothing. Eating Comfort-Potatoes did nothing either.

Holding my breath helped but, you know, I'm not going to suffocate myself. 😏

Decided that I'm going to sleep all night from now on and it doesn't really matter if the new prompt is 4-5hours later than originally planned. I live in the future, after all.

Anyway, today's #Maynia prompt is -- cucumber wine -- and I chose -- The goat ate my... -- for my #freewrite single prompt option.

Onwards to a boring, uneventful Joey and Jenny!

 

_{Header image CC0 and courtesy of Pixabay, and manipulated in the deep dream generator.}

Maynia -- Day Three -- 772 words

Jenny poked at the jumbo-size Manni’s Muffinhouse muffin. It didn’t feel as soft as a Blair’s Bakery muffin, and didn’t look anywhere near as delectable. She picked it up, turned it over in both hands, and took a small nibble. It was okay, she supposed. Sighing, she took another bite, placed it back on the tray, and stared hard at Joey.

Joey had his colossal muffin clasped in both hands, bit it cleanly in two, and chewed loudly as he asked, “Ever thought of brewing wine?”

“Wine? No. I’ve never thought of making some backyard brew.”

“Just trying to give you some side-options,” Joey shrugged and shoved the other half of the muffin into his gaping mouth. “You want to earn money, don’t you? My aunt was an avid wine brewer, you know. She turned it into a vibrant at-home business and never left the house! Earned heaps. Cucumber was her speciality.”

“Cucumber. Wine.” Jenny wrinkled her nose. “And didn’t your aunt drown in a giant vat of the stuff? I vaguely recall something like that.”

Joey ignored her question.

“Her cucumber wine was awful!” He grinned. “But it had a hell of a kick to it. I think there’s still some in the basement. Want to go have a taste? Imagine how amazing that kick would be now, after all these years.”

“Admit it,” Jenny sighed. “You just want me to drown in the vat too.” She pushed the tray away and face-planted the table in a display of exaggerated agony. “Considering you just got me fired, from a job I desperately did not want to lose, I think you owe me at least three bottles of super-potent wine, and another muffin. With apple chunks in it. And white chocolate chips.”

A Manni’s Muffintop — someone dressed as a giant muffin with their head poking out from where the topping would be — walked past just as Jenny mentioned her lost job and interrupted.

“Oh, hon. You just got fired from Blair’s?” Jenny nodded and the woman continued. “Darl, we’ve all been there. He’s a fussy old prick, that one. Doubt he’s been laid in years. You know, if you take that uniform to the cash office you’ll get reimbursed.”

“I’m — we’re — banned from stepping foot in there, ever again,” Jenny forced a thin smile. “Want to take it in for me?”

“Ouch. You must’ve done a number,” the Muffintop grimaced, plopped another muffin onto her try, and said, “On the house,” then walked back behind the counter. It wasn’t the type of muffin she had just demanded from Joey, but free muffins were fine by her.

Manni’s Muffinhouse was a cosy establishment dressed in peach-coloured paint, adorned with faux candlelit fixtures, with soft plump couches for seating benches, a roaring fireplace, and an old CRT television that hung in the corner, and if she was in a better mood she would’ve giggled at the Muffintop’s ridiculous attire. That was one job she wouldn’t be applying for. Besides, their food didn’t pass her taste-buds’ expectations.

Beggars can’t be choosers, Jennifer. Her mother’s huffy voice violated her thoughts and to shove it away she grabbed the new muffin and chomped down on it. Maybe she could learn to bake muffins and take over this fine business. First agenda after the takeover was to get rid of that terrible Muffintop uniform, she inwardly smirked. Not that she could afford to buy a business.

“Think we could sell it on Amazon?”

“Hmm?” Jenny raised an eyebrow.

“Cucumber wine!” Joey exclaimed, his voice filled with such glee it was impossible to not smile in response.

“Did you pay the electricity bill?” she asked. “Can’t go on Amazon with no power.”

Joey waved an impatient hand and jumped up from the seat.

“Can’t sell it on Amazon without a supply first — see you at home!”

Jenny smiled to herself as Joey and his orange mop bobbed away. It wasn’t as though he needed a side-hustle. He had inherited his house and a butt-load of cash when his aunt, his carer, had died a good fifteen or so years ago. He’d probably never have to work, or brew some backyard wine, ever in his life. It was all just a lark to him. Was the woman’s cucumber wine really that popular? She grimaced. It was unimaginable. Maybe people used it for other things and it hadn’t actually been meant for drinking, cucumber was supposed to be a great beauty product after all.

“…and then the goat ate my wife!”

Jenny blinked as her ears tuned into a conversation on the television.