Zelda's Inferno exercise: writing off of a prompt from another participant. I drew the phrase "She said Hitler wasn't such a bad guy, and that I only looked 25." (If you know our group, you might have guessed that this came from Jeff! And I would like to emphasize that this is entirely a work of fiction.) So...
She said Hitler wasn't such a bad guy, and that I only looked 25. It was that sort of evening, that sort of crowd. If I was a fox I would have chewed my leg off to escape, but I had to settle for chewing off my brain by means of strong drink. I raised my hand and caught the bartender's eye. "Bombay Sapphire martini, please."
But it would take a few minutes before the medicine could take effect. So while I waited for the drink, I had to employ a bit of the ol' social engineering to prevent this vapid old-money bimbo from getting a tighter grip. How to repel someone who thinks that Hitler wasn't that bad? Being Jewish would top the list, but no such luck, and I didn't think I could pass. Who else was on the Nazi hit list? Gypsies, pacifists, vegetarians, gays...ah!
"Oh, thank you, darling!" I waved my hand, letting my wrist flop a bit. "You know, it's so important to moisturize. Product, product, product!" As the martini arrived, I thought, shoot, I should have ordered a Cosmo; still, I picked up the cocktail glass with a flourish, my pinky hanging out, took a sip, and declared, "Yummy!"
Her knee, which had been flirtatiously almost-brushing mine, backed away at least eight inches, and her face tightened like a lug nut being driven home by an air wrench. "Oh. Well," she stammered, "um, excuse me just a minute, be right back." She jumped off her barstool like it was on fire. I relaxed and took another sip of my martini, actually tasting it this time.