Sigh, the dude-ette abides!
Last night while- watching and laughing hysterically to The Big Lebowski and snarfing down a rum and coke, my bare feet dangling over the paramour's bare legs, our filthy, sweaty bodies entangled- I remember thinking, golly life really is yummy.
Then the doorbell went.
I turned to the paramour. 'I'm not answering it.'
'Okay' he said, nakedly.
Seconds later it rang again. Persistent buggers.
When the paramour's mobile phone rang seconds after that I groaned.
He located his pants and phone and answered.
'Lo?' He glanced at me, surprised. 'Sure, she's...right here.'
He passed me the phone and mouthed the horribliest (new word) of words.
'Etheline.'
I took the phone from him. 'Etheline?'
'Are you up there?'
Where?' I sit up. 'How did you get this number?'
'You gave it to me.'
'No I didn't.'
'Well, I stored it when you called him from it one day.'
'Etheline!'
'What, he could have been a mass murderer!' She snorts, 'look, are you up there?'
'Where?'
'Your apartment.'
'No' I lied. 'What do you want?'
'I want to talk to you about our mother.'
'Oh no Etheline.' I grab my kimono and put it on. 'I don't think so.'
'Well tough shit, I've had her over at my house all day, going on, complaining. She's driving me up the walls. You've got to make up.'
'What if I don't want to make up? We're not kids, what are you going to do, drag us together and make us shake hands?'
'Give her a ring, tell her you're sorry, that's all she wants.'
'I'm not sorry at all.'
'Just tell her you are.'
'No.'
'Cat!'
'Don't Cat me, and mind your own business Etheline.'
'It is my business!' She yells. 'I'm sick listening to her going on about you. Ring the bloody woman. Tell her you're sorry.'
'I'm not sorry! She drives me up the walls too.'
'Look,' she changes tack, wheedling now. 'I know you, you'll let this drag on and next thing you know it will be another five years' and then straight back to real Etheline- 'and let me tell you lady, I"m not spending the rest of my days listening to her go on about you. You're going to apologise -even if you don't mean it.'
'I won't do it.'
'You will.'
'You can't make me!'
'You're apologising.'
'I am not apologising to that woman.'
Paramour sighs and begins to look for his clothes. He put his pants on, picks up our glasses and carries them out to the kitchen.
Sunday is officially over.
Then the doorbell went.
I turned to the paramour. 'I'm not answering it.'
'Okay' he said, nakedly.
Seconds later it rang again. Persistent buggers.
When the paramour's mobile phone rang seconds after that I groaned.
He located his pants and phone and answered.
'Lo?' He glanced at me, surprised. 'Sure, she's...right here.'
He passed me the phone and mouthed the horribliest (new word) of words.
'Etheline.'
I took the phone from him. 'Etheline?'
'Are you up there?'
Where?' I sit up. 'How did you get this number?'
'You gave it to me.'
'No I didn't.'
'Well, I stored it when you called him from it one day.'
'Etheline!'
'What, he could have been a mass murderer!' She snorts, 'look, are you up there?'
'Where?'
'Your apartment.'
'No' I lied. 'What do you want?'
'I want to talk to you about our mother.'
'Oh no Etheline.' I grab my kimono and put it on. 'I don't think so.'
'Well tough shit, I've had her over at my house all day, going on, complaining. She's driving me up the walls. You've got to make up.'
'What if I don't want to make up? We're not kids, what are you going to do, drag us together and make us shake hands?'
'Give her a ring, tell her you're sorry, that's all she wants.'
'I'm not sorry at all.'
'Just tell her you are.'
'No.'
'Cat!'
'Don't Cat me, and mind your own business Etheline.'
'It is my business!' She yells. 'I'm sick listening to her going on about you. Ring the bloody woman. Tell her you're sorry.'
'I'm not sorry! She drives me up the walls too.'
'Look,' she changes tack, wheedling now. 'I know you, you'll let this drag on and next thing you know it will be another five years' and then straight back to real Etheline- 'and let me tell you lady, I"m not spending the rest of my days listening to her go on about you. You're going to apologise -even if you don't mean it.'
'I won't do it.'
'You will.'
'You can't make me!'
'You're apologising.'
'I am not apologising to that woman.'
Paramour sighs and begins to look for his clothes. He put his pants on, picks up our glasses and carries them out to the kitchen.
Sunday is officially over.
posted by fatmammycat at 10:17 a.m.
11 Comments:
You go, Dude-ette! Abide!! DO NOT apologize. Sorry your Sunday ended on that note, but I'm glad you held your ground with your sister. You made my morning.
Er, yes Bonnie. However this is Etheline we're dealing with, I suspect I shall capitulate before the weekend. See hass vayys offff making me weak.
Ah go on, apologise. Even if you keep your fingers crossed behind your back.
You're young, in love and getting married. She's old. Apologise, it'll give her something to purse her lips and nod sanctimoniously (sp?) over while sniffily offering you a cup of tea to make up.
If she does that thing with her mouth I'm gonna sock her one in the chops.
And Honey, I ain't kiddin'.
If she does that thing with her mouth I'm gonna sock her one in the chops.
And Honey, I ain't kiddin'.
Meet her in a cafe with one of these window-bars so you don't have to look at her face. Say what you have to say and if she says anything unpleasant, pretend you didn't hear her and concentrate really, really hard on the passing pedestrians. Then point out a passing pedestrian to change the subject.
Oh, it feels so good to dole out advice! I feel like a Solomon figure, only more unwise.
Good luck with whatever you decide, fmc.
Oh Sam, if only it were that simple, my mother, bless her ample arse will drag this one out for weeks. There isn't a living breathing relative that won't have heard some version of the 'closing lift' story at this stage. Doubtless the next family wedding/funeral I attend will be a riot of tuts and pointed fingers. 'There she is now, did you hear what that one did to her poor mother?' But thanks for the advice. I"m smiling at the screen and thinking to myself how lovely folk are on the net compared to folk who push you into the world and then spend the rest of the time reminding you of their 'sacrifice'.
Why yes AWF, and then after I trick her into that I might also trick French Gay into thinking he is a straight, inferior sub-species of culchie. And then I'll mix a whole load of food together in one bowl pour cold beans over it and drink ice cold water, straight from the tap. I might even brush my teeth and then drink a glass of orange juice while chewing hubba bubba.
I do like that morality thingie you've created, although Docky would love it more, he's so queer that one.
" Depends, I'd cheerfully murder any fucker that tried to harm my family"
FMC - your comment over at Twenty......so ya luv your mum and your sis really!
Naturally. I can say what I like about them, but god help anyone else. Isn't that the way with most folk?
Yep, just normal family warfare...love 'em, hate 'em in equal measures, but woe betide anyone else interfering!
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