After abandonning four random prompts I’m going with this one:
“Where were your shoes? Write about an interesting time when you happened to be barefoot. Begin and end your writing with a description of your feet.”
Amy smiled at the shape of her feet. Singley or paired their profile presented an authentic feminine appearance: petite, but not too narrow; distinct toes that neither blended into a mob near the pinkie nor highlighted the one that went to town as an overbearing brute; neatly trimmed nails; and most importantly a slender approach through the ankle.
She’d have to kill herself if she had cankles. There were plenty of things Amy would have to kill herself over. Cankles would surely fall in the first ten if she bothered to list them out.
“Come on Amy Baimy!” Jack called to her. Amy’s thoughts swept back a two years or so when they first came to the beach together. He tied his tounge trying to say ‘Amy Baby’. Each time he tried and failed they laughed more until he gave up.
“Come on,” Jack pleaded from the waves. Amy stood and brushed the sand from her bottom and adjusted her hair better in her big floppy hat. She wished for her shorts so she could stomp in the water with Jack, but these white capris with their v-notched cuffs added a dynamic she couldn’t explain and she chose them instead. Today would be about romance, not splashing anyway.
I’m just going to end there.