Chin dripping, Ashley leaned forward to keep the pink milkshake from her white blazer. Her jaw hurt, not from the impact, but from her forced smile. Poise, first. Dignity be damned. She’d never let her assailant know this publicity stunt rankled her.
Photographers jockeyed for position, blinding her with their stuttering cameras. Inhaling deeply, Ashley recalled her achievements: a multi-million-dollar fashion business, a condo in Venice, three magazine covers—four, counting the tabloid.
But her crowning glory was relocating from a Kentucky trailer park to the bed of a Wall Street billionaire. All worth the cost of a milkshake.
This piece was written in response to Carrot Ranch Literary’ Community’s 99-word challenge:
July 30, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that uses the phrase “her crowning glory.” (Thanks to Anne Goodwin for the prompt idea.) It can be in the traditional sense of a woman’s hair or applied to any idea of a best attribute. What happens if you play with the meaning or gender? Go where the prompt leads!