TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "FUNNY"

Thanks for stopping by. I'm continuing my new story this week, entitled RESCUE MY HEART. As of last week, Rory was on her way to the hospital after being hit by a bike in Central Park. To connect with the talented Tuesday Tales writers, click on the link on the bottom.

         Rory left the hospital with a prescription for pain medicine, a large hospital bill, and her broken left arm in a sling. A kind man flagged a taxi for her. She gave the driver the address on Dr. Roberts’ card.

      The car pulled up to the Manhattan Animal Clinic and Rory got out. She was feeling weak after the accident and not having eaten all day. She managed get through the door and up to the front desk.
“Dr. Roberts, please.”
“Do you have an appointment?” The older woman behind the desk asked.
“No. He has my dog.”
“Has you dog?”
Rory checked the badge the lady wore and learned her name. “Yes, Mary. Baxter, the pug he ran over in the park today?”
“Oh, oh. Yes. Just a moment.” Mary smiled at her and picked up the phone.

A minute later, Hack Roberts came around the corner.

“Hello, Ms…uh, Ms…Aurora?”

“Ms. Sampson. Where’s Baxter? How is he?”

“You and Baxter have a lot in common, Ms. Sampson. Baxter has a broken leg and you look like you broke your arm. Not your funny bone, I trust.”

“Nothing funny about it. I didn’t break my arm, you broke it for me with your damned, bike.” Anger seethed in her chest. “Is that all that’s wrong with Baxter.”
“Yes, Baxter was a very lucky pug.”
“When can I take him home?”
“Right now. By the way, bring me the hospital bill when you get it.”
“I have it right here.” Rory pushed the papers at him.
“I’ll take care of it.” He took the papers and stuffed them into his pants pocket.
“Damn right you will. But what about my life? I’m a writer and I walk dogs. Now I can’t do either.”
“That’s not my problem. If you hadn’t stepped in front of my bike…”
“Stepped in front of your bike? If you had been going the proper speed and stopped at the light…”
“It’s all water under the bridge now, Ms. Sampson. I guess you’ll have to figure out how to get along. I can’t be responsible for your life.”
A tall, extremely thin woman wearing a short dress, very black, very short hair, too much eye makeup and an attitude approached. She looked over Rory with a disdainful eye.
“Who the hell are you?” the woman asked, directing her words to Rory but her gaze at Hack.
“She’s the woman who got in the way of my bike in the park this morning.”
“Really? Scruffy…”
“I came right from the hospital to pick up my dog.” Rory tried to smooth out her blood-stained shirt with one hand.
“Eww. Please. Get your dog and be done.”

“This is Felicia Adams, my fiancée.”
Rory raised an eyebrow at the woman and muttered under her breath. “Is that a woman or an ironing board?” 
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