BUBBLES

GRAMMY:  What are you doing, boy?

JULIUS:  Blowing bubbles.

GRAMMY:  Really?  Just blowing bubbles?

JULIUS:  Uh huh.

GRAMMY:  So if I look out that window, I’m not gonna see some damn freaky bubble sculpture?

JULIUS: Unh uh.

GRAMMY:  And you’re not conducting some God-awful experiment where you trap bugs in bubbles or some other weird stuff?

JULIUS:  No.

GRAMMY:  So all I’m gonna see are bubbles floating away until they burst?

JULIUS:  Uh huh.

GRAMMY:  (takes deep breath and looks out window)  Well, I’ll be . . . it’s just . . . bubbles.

JULIUS:  I told you.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, you did.  (sigh)

JULIUS:  What’s the matter, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  Well, it’s kind of a let-down.  I was expecting . . . hell, I don’t know what I was expecting.

JULIUS:  Wanna try?

GRAMMY:  What?  Me?  Blow bubbles?

JULIUS:  It’s fun.  It’ll make you happy.

GRAMMY:  Oh, right.  Like that’ll ever happen.

JULIUS:  Try, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Oh, hell, boy.  Move over and gimme the stick.

JULIUS:  Isn’t it fun?

GRAMMY:  Yeah, it is.  I tell you what.  I’ll blow the bubbles and you take my cigarette and see how many you can pop before your mother gets home.

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JOB COUNSELING

GRAMMY:  What’s wrong, Typhus?  That medal not shiny enough for you?

TYPHUS:  They only gave it to me because you made a fuss.

GRAMMY:  Hey, you deserved it.  You saved a hundred year-old woman from drowning in her own apartment.

TYPHUS:  You know, Grammy, I been thinkin’.

GRAMMY:  About what.

TYPHUS:  About me.  How I been wastin’ my life.  I’m tired of bein’ a low-life.  I want to be somebody.

GRAMMY:  So who do you want to be?

ME:  I don’t know.  A bigshot.

GRAMMY:  Well, what do you already know how to do?

TYPHUS:  I can draw.

GRAMMY:  Forget drawing.  Artists only become famous after they die.  You don’t want to wait that long.

TYPHUS:  But that’s all I know how to do.

GRAMMY:   Right.  Think, boy!  What do you do best?

TYPHUS:  Lie, cheat and steal, but those won’t get me anywhere.

GRAMMY:  Of course they will.  Haven’t you heard of politics? Y ou get to lie, cheat and steal you way to the top.  And you’ll get a huge salary for doing it.

TYPHUS:  (brightening)  Right!  I didn’t even think of that.

GRAMMY:  Not a problem.  Thinking isn’t one of the qualifications.

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CHRISTMAS MIRACLES

ME:  Christmas dinner went pretty well, don’t you think, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  I’ll say.  I was sure that ex of yours and his friends would screw it up royally.  And who knew what that weirdo Alfie was going to do or say.

ME:  And I was certain Typhus and his mother were going to be really vulgar.  It’s amazing how everything went so well.  And did you see how they all got along?  It was like everyone seemed to really like everyone else.  Even you were nice, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Yeah.  Weird, wasn’t it?

ME:  Maybe we should do it again.  You know, for New Years.  Have a little party of sorts.

GRAMMY:  Nah.  It’ll never work.  A Christmas miracle is one thing.  New Years is just . . . well, New Years.

ME:  (sigh)  I suppose you’re right.

GRAMMY:  Of course I’m right.  I’m always right.  Now help me out of this damn chair and let’s hit the mall and return all this crap they gave us.

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LEAVES

GRAMMY: There you go. Now have some fun.

JULIUS: (stares)

GRAMMY: They’re leaves, boy. You jump in them. You roll around. You have fun.

JULIUS: But they’ll get messy, Grammy.

GRAMMY: That’s the point, boy.

JULIUS: (stares)

GRAMMY: Oh, Lord. Look. Give them a fluff.

JULIUS: But Mommy said . . . .

GRAMMY: Grab a handful. Throw them in the air.

JULIUS: But Mommy said . . . .

GRAMMY: Oh, dammit, boy! I don’t care what Mommy said. Give them a good kick. Like this. And this. And . . . Aaaah!

JULIUS: Are you okay, Grammy?

GRAMMY: No, I’m not okay. I’m too old to be playing in the damn leaves. You should have been doing all this nonsense. Not me. Now help me up.

ME: Grammy? What are you doing down there?

GRAMMY: I was trying to show the boy how to have fun.

ME: In wet leaves? Don’t you know that’s dangerous? You could slip and fall.

JULIUS: I tried to tell her, Mommy. She wouldn’t listen.

ME: (sigh) She never does. Come on. Let’s go inside and have some cocoa.

GRAMMY: Uhm, excuse me? I’m still laying here!

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