Wavewriter Prompt: “drab”
“I feel like a sparrow competing against flamingos.”
“Don’t pout, Marianne,” dad said, patting me on the shoulder. “You’re not in a ballet recital, you’re competing for a choir spot. And everyone knows flamingos have terrible singing voices.”
When I didn’t cheer up, he put a finger under my chin and forced my gaze up to meet his. “Honk! Honk!” he demonstrated.
My lips twitched. Taking that as a sign, he set his hands to his hips and began to HONK the tune to Figaro.
Everyone in the parking lot stopped to watch, so he turned to a few passers by and serenaded them.
That’s my dad. Crazy.
I couldn’t hide my smile.
Finally finished with his flamingo chorus, dad turned and caught me up in a hug. “Your feathers may be drab, little sparrow, but your voice is incredible. You go sing those pink ninnies under the table.”
I hugged him back, whispering, “Thanks, Dad. I needed that.”
I squared my shoulders and headed into the square, brick building where my fate would be determined. Would I be accepted for a scholarship to Madame Ontario’s Choral College, or would I be joining my other geek friends at the local community college, studying accounting.
I wrinkled my nose. Neither sparrows nor flamingos were good at accounting.