Dysfunctional relationship resumed over a bagful of soggy scrambled eggs and soggy scrambled emotions. Now for Mary’s victory lap—at least a week, judging by past interactions. What I’d really like to see:
Mary: You two are toxic with each other! Estelle, settle for being a crazy cat lady who plays piano once a week at the senior center. Wilbur, you are too selfish and immature to be in a relationship with another living creature. Here’s the phone number of the local French Bulldog rescue organization. I want Pierre in a stable forever home tomorrow! Here’s a bag of muffins for each of you. They’re disgusting. I’m swearing off baking.
Oh, fauxprof, if only. Libby is happy now? Did Estelle send her to a "farm in the country" where she has endless mice and toys to play with? I hope this does not turn into a month of "I'm sorry", "No, I'm sorry", "No, no, I insist. It is I who should be sorry"...ad naseum.
Libby crouched under the windows, arching her back defiantly. Her claws, sliding out of her pads, gripped the concrete of the ledge as though she were digging them into weston blubber. She hissed, but softly, trying to keep the noise down so that her nemesis would not hear. Down below, and in the flats left and right, life went on. Mary Worth had just popped another load of muffins into the oven. Toby Cameron had just sculpted another Splak! horsie. Irish had stopped by to pick up a spare set of stockings and flushed her son’s drug stash – incautiously left out on the table – down the toilet. Down below, Mr Allora was busy calling his cousin in Sinaloa to arrange a fresh package, so Tommy would still be able to get high tonight. Saul and Eva were out with their dogs. Dogs Are Good. Ian Cameron brushed his beard as he decided his lecture planned for the day was not quite pompous enough, and reached for the thesaurus and dictionary. But up here on the ledge, Libby waited, teeth bared, for her hated enemy to go. She would not enter as long as he was there. No matter how long it took.
Time has passed since that day. The seas have dried, the old mountains long gone. The desert sands lap at the base of walls that had been ancient when the fossils that lie beneath the surface were still unborn.
Old stars have burnt out. New ones flare in constellations that no one will ever name.
High on a ridge, back arched, claws digging, Libby waits, hissing, hissing.
Please tell me Libby has not been given away, and Estelle has not decided she's in love with a French bulldog, and Wilbur will not be reinforced for thinking his dog is a "chick magnet" (groan). Mary actually expressed regret (mon dieu!) at having taken Wilbur to do karaoke, and now we stand at the precipice of her getting to smugly swandive into an assertion that maybe that karaoke evening wasn't so bad after all. Please, please no....
Estelle: Libby’s happy now, and that’s all that matters. Wilbur: Where is she, by the way?
Estelle: Where is she? Where is she? Why; she’s dead. Wilbur: What? What happened? I thought she was in the best of health?
Estelle: Yes, she was. You don’t understand. I killed her. The little bugger put up quite a fight but I got her. I snuck up on her from the left. She never saw me coming. hee hee hee Wilbur: Estelle, that’s awful. You loved that cat. Why on earth would you kill her?
Estelle: Why? Why? How can you even ask me that? I killed her for you! I knew that you would never be happy here as long as Libby was around. And I knew that I would never be happy until I had a man. Like every woman in the Worthiverse, I NEED A MAN. Any man; even you, Wilbur. So, it was obvious. Libby was the only thing that stood between me and you and happiness. I can always get another cat, but another man? Not so easy; believe me: been there, done that. Wilbur: Well… that’s great news! Hey! Feel like a little sing-along? I just learned the lyrics to “Another One Bites The Dust”.
@LouiseF. Sorry. This is going to end either with Weelbur and Estelle singing it out at Estelle's piano with the dog and cat singing along or with Weelbur and Estelle singing together at the karaoke bar. Either way, Mary will be in attendance and will smugly provide a story ending platitude. And if it's on a Sunday, we will be treated with some random out of context quote that June found Googling, something in the vein of "can cat and dog people get along?".
MDMaryTed, I don't think the Starlight Lounge will let either of them in the door again, so I imagine you are correct that they will somehow find satisfaction at Estelle's piano while the critters frolic. Estelle's new beau hasn't even had a chance to show off HIS singing, but I think he will have vanished from the scene except for Libby's annual ear cleanout, unfortunately. I have to give KM some credit for at least not (with the exception of Toby and Ian) having the May/December romances in the Worthiverse be all woman=May/man=December. Thank you, HelenClark! Hilarious!
13 comments:
Dysfunctional relationship resumed over a bagful of soggy scrambled eggs and soggy scrambled emotions. Now for Mary’s victory lap—at least a week, judging by past interactions. What I’d really like to see:
Mary: You two are toxic with each other! Estelle, settle for being a crazy cat lady who plays piano once a week at the senior center. Wilbur, you are too selfish and immature to be in a relationship with another living creature. Here’s the phone number of the local French Bulldog rescue organization. I want Pierre in a stable forever home tomorrow! Here’s a bag of muffins for each of you. They’re disgusting. I’m swearing off baking.
Oh, fauxprof, if only.
Libby is happy now? Did Estelle send her to a "farm in the country" where she has endless mice and toys to play with?
I hope this does not turn into a month of "I'm sorry", "No, I'm sorry", "No, no, I insist. It is I who should be sorry"...ad naseum.
Where is Libby?
Libby crouched under the windows, arching her back defiantly. Her claws, sliding out of her pads, gripped the concrete of the ledge as though she were digging them into weston blubber. She hissed, but softly, trying to keep the noise down so that her nemesis would not hear. Down below, and in the flats left and right, life went on. Mary Worth had just popped another load of muffins into the oven. Toby Cameron had just sculpted another Splak! horsie. Irish had stopped by to pick up a spare set of stockings and flushed her son’s drug stash – incautiously left out on the table – down the toilet. Down below, Mr Allora was busy calling his cousin in Sinaloa to arrange a fresh package, so Tommy would still be able to get high tonight. Saul and Eva were out with their dogs. Dogs Are Good. Ian Cameron brushed his beard as he decided his lecture planned for the day was not quite pompous enough, and reached for the thesaurus and dictionary. But up here on the ledge, Libby waited, teeth bared, for her hated enemy to go. She would not enter as long as he was there. No matter how long it took.
Time has passed since that day. The seas have dried, the old mountains long gone. The desert sands lap at the base of walls that had been ancient when the fossils that lie beneath the surface were still unborn.
Old stars have burnt out. New ones flare in constellations that no one will ever name.
High on a ridge, back arched, claws digging, Libby waits, hissing, hissing.
That would actually be good, so, no, it will not happen.
“What do you mean, ‘Where is she?’ She’s right back here in my hair, like she usually is.’”
Wilbur and Estelle back together at the start of the holiday season. How Hallmark Channely….
Please tell me Libby has not been given away, and Estelle has not decided she's in love with a French bulldog, and Wilbur will not be reinforced for thinking his dog is a "chick magnet" (groan). Mary actually expressed regret (mon dieu!) at having taken Wilbur to do karaoke, and now we stand at the precipice of her getting to smugly swandive into an assertion that maybe that karaoke evening wasn't so bad after all. Please, please no....
"She's happy now . . . that you're gone. . . . Ahem, I said, 'now that you're gone.' . . . As in, you're not here anymore. . . . Hello?"
-- Scottie McW.
I know it would be too much to ask that Pierre has eaten Libby....but I am kinda hoping.
Estelle: Libby’s happy now, and that’s all that matters.
Wilbur: Where is she, by the way?
Estelle: Where is she? Where is she? Why; she’s dead.
Wilbur: What? What happened? I thought she was in the best of health?
Estelle: Yes, she was. You don’t understand. I killed her. The little bugger put up quite a fight but I got her. I snuck up on her from the left. She never saw me coming. hee hee hee
Wilbur: Estelle, that’s awful. You loved that cat. Why on earth would you kill her?
Estelle: Why? Why? How can you even ask me that? I killed her for you! I knew that you would never be happy here as long as Libby was around. And I knew that I would never be happy until I had a man. Like every woman in the Worthiverse, I NEED A MAN. Any man; even you, Wilbur. So, it was obvious. Libby was the only thing that stood between me and you and happiness. I can always get another cat, but another man? Not so easy; believe me: been there, done that.
Wilbur: Well… that’s great news! Hey! Feel like a little sing-along? I just learned the lyrics to “Another One Bites The Dust”.
HelenClark
“Oh Weelbur….it’s not just Pierre. Nothing and nobody can warm up to you. You need to have a personality better than rancid butter for that.”
@LouiseF. Sorry. This is going to end either with Weelbur and Estelle singing it out at Estelle's piano with the dog and cat singing along or with Weelbur and Estelle singing together at the karaoke bar. Either way, Mary will be in attendance and will smugly provide a story ending platitude. And if it's on a Sunday, we will be treated with some random out of context quote that June found Googling, something in the vein of "can cat and dog people get along?".
MDMaryTed, I don't think the Starlight Lounge will let either of them in the door again, so I imagine you are correct that they will somehow find satisfaction at Estelle's piano while the critters frolic. Estelle's new beau hasn't even had a chance to show off HIS singing, but I think he will have vanished from the scene except for Libby's annual ear cleanout, unfortunately. I have to give KM some credit for at least not (with the exception of Toby and Ian) having the May/December romances in the Worthiverse be all woman=May/man=December. Thank you, HelenClark! Hilarious!
LouiseF - Thank you! Glad to know there's someone else around here with my gallows humor!
HelenClark
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