I went to my favorite spot and had a spot of tea, whatever that is. A Dalmatian named Spot was walking down the street, when it spotted a cat and started chasing after it. They both ran under my table and knocked over my tea and the strawberry scone that I was eating. The waiter saw that the strawberry created a spot on my shirt and he said that he would get some club soda to take care of that, but I rubbed and rubbed, going all Lady Macbeth on it saying “Out damn spot” to no avail. I think that I should look for a new spot to take my tea.
Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt is spot.