Daily Writing Prompt: If you could host a dinner and anyone you invite was sure to come, who would you invite?
Oh, that’s easy. I’d invite all my ancestors, every last one of them, from the ones I’ve heard stories about to the ones whose names got lost somewhere between a patch of bog land and a boat to God-knows-where.
But topping the guest list would be Granny Frass and Aunty Fan. I can just picture it: Granny Frass giving out about the state of the world while chain-smoking imaginary Woodbine’s in the afterlife, and Aunty Fan clutching her teacup, side-eyeing anyone she thinks is up to no good. She never did have much patience for nonsense.
Imagine what they’d tell me? The old stories, the secrets, the bits nobody dared say out loud when they were alive. The warnings. The wisdom. And maybe, if the mood struck, Aunty Fan might even read the tea leaves for me, though knowing her, she’d probably make a cryptic riddle out of it just to watch me squirm.
I reckon by the end of the night, I’d have a full belly, a full heart, and probably a few dead relatives bickering over who makes the best soda bread.
Now that’s a dinner I’d look forward to.
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