'Piqued'...Write on Wednesdays

This week the challenge set was to write for 5 minutes on the basis of a word cue. That word was 'piqued'.

Piqued:
A state of vexation caused by a perceived slight or indignity; a feeling of wounded pride.tr.v. piqued, piqu·ing, piques

1. To cause to feel resentment or indignation.
2. To provoke; arouse: The portrait piqued her curiosity.
3. To pride (oneself): He piqued himself on his stylish attire.

 

 

 

Her curiousity was piqued by the smell. Glancing around, she slowly edged her way out of the museum tour that she was supposed to be listening attentively to, and peaked around the corner. Her heart leapt and fell at the same time at the sight that was now before her.

 

Oh how she longed to go and join that queue, grab a tray and begin the tantalising decision making process that had been the focus of her day for so long...which of these cakes, tarts and pastries do I want? She was salivating at the thought.

 

She suddenly realised how she must look; an overweight, fashionably disadvantaged girl/woman (she wasn't quite sure yet) staring longingly open-mouthed at the little museum cafeteria as if she hadn't eaten for four days, rather than a mere four hours.

 

She tried to tell herself that they wouldn't serve the Belgian buns that she loved so much in such a small cafe, and even if they did, they wouldn't be as delightful as the ones from the bakery down the road. But even she knew this was a farce.

 

It was irrelevant of whether she thought they would be more or less delicious. She still wanted one. She could almost taste it she wanted it so badly. The soft smooth icing, the sweet carby breaded goodness, the little cherry on top...oh how she wanted it.

 

No come on. You've lasted three days on this diet and you are not going to be distracted from an educational museum tour by a stupid pastry.

 

But a little food devil's voice in her head counteracted the sensible angel on her shoulder.

 

But surely you deserve a treat for being so good for three days. I mean, how many calories can actually be in a pastry? Forty? Fifty? Hardly any. And you can choose one with cherries or apple in so that you're getting part of your necessary 5-a-day as well which is good for you. So actually if you think about it, it's better for you to eat a cake now, otherwise you'd be scrimping on your fruit intake...But what about the museum tour?

 

She pondered this, torn, for all of about thirty seconds.

 

Okay so what I'll do is, go and get the pastry, sit down and eat that because I need a rest after all this walking (from the car park), and then I'll go to the museum gift shop and buy a book about the exhibit that I'll read tonight while I watch that cooking programme. Ooh I wonder if they've got any of that fudge on sale in the gift shop too, and the biscuits...

 

 

 

Feel free to leave any comments!! This piece sums me up to a tee to be honest!

 

Zx

 

 

 

 

 

Thought I'd post this one too, it was my first attempt but I didn't feel it was really going anywhere so I tried again. Thought I'd post it anyway:

 

Her curiousity was piqued by the gossip. The words 'bad hair day' or 'awful outfit' could always be counted on to prick up her ears, much like a cat to the rustling of a bird in the tree.

At this moment she was attempting to feign disinterest in the other mothers in the playground's animated conversations. Taking a surreptitious step backwards so she was better in earshot of their bitching, she strained her ears to hear a name so that she too could revel in the fashion faux pas of whoever today's victim was of the Trendy Mums' gossiping.

It had only been three short months since she herself had been the subject of these bored women's mindless chatter. They had decided to move Marcus from the village comprehensive to the private school in the next town. On that first fateful afternoon when pick-up time came around, Rose had rushed back from her part time stint as a receptionist, changed swiftly out of her smart work clothes and into the first wearable items that she could lay her badly-in-need-of-a-manicured hands on. Sometimes this kind of thrown together outfit ends up looking vaguely passable, but unfortunately on that day, the first garments that had come to hand were an old pair of flurorescent green leggings that she had worn to do her exercise video the previous day, with one of her husband's faded yellow and black rugby shirts. The overall effect was of a bumblebee sitting on a leaf.

So you can imagine the glances, sniggers and stares that she received when standing next to the immaculately and fashionably dressed private school mothers whilst waiting for her son to come bounding out.