A Micro-story
Before you shoot the messenger, let me say this, I did my best to keep Donna’s cheating ways to myself. You’re my son and I didn’t want to be the one to tell you about the liaison she had with that sleazy mortgage broker, or about the night out on the town she spent with that exterminator you hired to put an end to your field mice infestation. It certainly would have been easier if someone else had seen fit to tell you about the way she behaves on Taco Tuesday, after her fourth three-dollar margarita. Since nobody else in town had the guts to spill the beans—I had to do it. I had to be the one to tell you. What if you impregnated her? What if my first grandchild was born to a two-timing whore? How do you think I would feel?
It’s too bad that you’ve lost your appetite. After all, I slaved away making your favorite Beef Wellington. I was going to serve floating islands for dessert, but I don’t suppose you’re interested now.
Oh here, have another glass of Cabernet. You’ll feel better. There’s plenty of fish in the sea, keep that in mind. Remember that little girl you brought home around three years ago, the blonde from Montana? Now she had her head screwed on straight. Well, so she had a few panic attacks. Lots of people have panic attacks. Personally, driving through the parking garage at Kaiser makes my heart race and my palms sweat profusely. Your father married me even though he knew that I was unable to drive across bridges of any kind. Bless his heart; he never held my phobias against me.
And, whatever happened to that pharmacist you were dating last summer? I remember she had a considerable portfolio, and didn’t she own her own condo? You shouldn’t let a little thing like a shopping addiction come between you and true love. They have clinics to cure problems like that.
But, my dear son, a slut is a slut. You would have always have problems with Donna. Please don’t forgive her. Maybe this is a good time to tell you, she came on to Uncle Mort last Easter. She really did. He told me all about it. Why, Donna even told him about your little problem. I’m not going to discuss the specifics here with you now. You must know what she was referring to. I’d find that a little perverse, discussing my son’s sex life. I draw the line. Ask your Uncle Mort if you must know.
What? How can you possibly be upset with me? Any mother worth her salt would have exposed Donna for the cheat she is. I’m only trying to protect you! If you marry that hussy your life will be full of misery and heartbreak. What’s so special about Donna anyway? Her teeth are so damned crooked, she cackles when she laughs, and I’m pretty sure those double D’s are phony. You’ve had much prettier girlfriends, classier girlfriends. Oh, you think you’re in love. But love is over-rated. Respect and devotion are much more important. Donna’s about as loyal as a Tomcat. Do yourself a favor, put her right out of your mind. Break up with her and forget that you ever met.
Now, now, don’t despair. You’ve got me. Mama’s here. You just sit back and relax while I make those floating islands. Why don’t you give Donna a call? Tell her that it’s over. You’ll feel so much better. Really you will. I promise.
Mama’s Here
(A micro short story)
Before you shoot the messenger, let me say this, I did my best to keep Donna’s cheating ways to myself. You’re my son and I didn’t want to be the one to tell you about the liaison she had with that sleazy mortgage broker, or about the night out on the town she spent with that exterminator you hired to put an end to your field mice infestation. It certainly would have been easier if someone else had seen fit to tell you about the way she behaves on Taco Tuesday, after her fourth three-dollar margarita. Since nobody else in town had the guts to spill the beans—I had to do it. I had to be the one to tell you. What if you impregnated her? What if my first grandchild was born to a two-timing whore? How do you think I would feel?
It’s too bad that you’ve lost your appetite. After all, I slaved away making your favorite Beef Wellington. I was going to serve floating islands for dessert, but I don’t suppose you’re interested now.
Oh here, have another glass of Cabernet. You’ll feel better. There’s plenty of fish in the sea, keep that in mind. Remember that little girl you brought home around three years ago, the blonde from Montana? Now she had her head screwed on straight. Well, so she had a few panic attacks. Lots of people have panic attacks. Personally, driving through the parking garage at Kaiser makes my heart race and my palms sweat profusely. Your father married me even though he knew that I was unable to drive across bridges of any kind. Bless his heart; he never held my phobias against me.
And, whatever happened to that pharmacist you were dating last summer? I remember she had a considerable portfolio, and didn’t she own her own condo? You shouldn’t let a little thing like a shopping addiction come between you and true love. They have clinics to cure problems like that.
But, my dear son, a slut is a slut. You would have always have problems with Donna. Please don’t forgive her. Maybe this is a good time to tell you, she came on to Uncle Mort last Easter. She really did. He told me all about it. Why, Donna even told him about your little problem. I’m not going to discuss the specifics here with you now. You must know what she was referring to. I’d find that a little perverse, discussing my son’s sex life. I draw the line. Ask your Uncle Mort if you must know.
What? How can you possibly be upset with me? Any mother worth her salt would have exposed Donna for the cheat she is. I’m only trying to protect you! If you marry that hussy your life will be full of misery and heartbreak. What’s so special about Donna anyway? Her teeth are so damned crooked, she cackles when she laughs, and I’m pretty sure those double D’s are phony. You’ve had much prettier girlfriends, classier girlfriends. Oh, you think you’re in love. But love is over-rated. Respect and devotion are much more important. Donna’s about as loyal as a Tomcat. Do yourself a favor, put her right out of your mind. Break up with her and forget that you ever met.
Now, now, don’t despair. You’ve got me. Mama’s here. You just sit back and relax while I make those floating islands. Why don’t you give Donna a call? Tell her that it’s over. You’ll feel so much better. Really you will. I promise.
All Rights Reserved ©2009 by Elizabeth Bradley
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