PERSONAL GROWTH

ME:  Oh no.

GRAMMY:  What?

ME:  A deer is eating the nose off Julius’ snowman.  And here he comes, running straight for the door.

GRAMMY:  I don’t hear him screaming like he usually does.

ME:  Well, Typhus is out there with him.  Poor little thing, he's probably holding it all inside.  But the minute he gets through the door . . . .

GRAMMY:  I’ll go get my earplugs.

ME:  Wait a minute, Grammy.  He’s going back.

GRAMMY:  You’re kidding me.

ME:  No.  He’s going back.  And he has something in his hand.

GRAMMY:  Move over.  Let me see.

ME:  Easy, Grammy.  You almost knocked me down.

GRAMMY:  Oh, stop your whining.  No wonder the boy gets upset so easily.  Must get it from you.

ME:  What’s Typhus giving him?

GRAMMY:  Damned if I know.  Looks like a chunk of ice.  And he’s putting it in . . . well, I’ll be . . . .

ME:  What, Grammy?  What’s he do . . .  Oh my goodness!

THUNK!

GRAMMY:  Unbelievable.  The boy’s used that slingshot exactly twice and he’s hit his mark each time.

ME:  But the deer . . . it’s . . . .

GRAMMY:  Venison.  You know, with an aim like that, we may never have to buy meat again.

Photo:  Fresh99

SURPRISE!

GRAMMY:  The ocean in the dead of winter.  Care to tell me why we’re here?

ME:  Jules asked me to meet him here.

GRAMMY:  Why?

ME:  He said he had something important to tell me.

GRAMMY:  Here?  Whatever happened to the local coffee shop?

ME:  He proposed to me here, Grammy.  While we watched the sunrise.

GRAMMY:  Well, I don’t see a car anywhere.

ME:  Jules doesn’t have a car.  He refuses to get one until they’re environmentally friendly.

GRAMMY:  So how’d he get out here, then?

ME:  Taxi.  It’s how he gets everywhere.

GRAMMY:  Oh, right.  I forgot how Green taxis are.

ME:  He sounded strange on the phone.  You don’t suppose he might have . . . you know . . . after seeing me with Alfie?

GRAMMY:  We can only hope.

ME:  Grammy!

JULES:  Good afternoon ladies!

ME:  Jules!  And who’s your friend?

JULES:  Barbara, this is Bambi.  I’ve just proposed and she said yes.  Now, how about a lift home?

ME:  A lift?  (Shoves him into ocean)

JULES:  Hey!  What the . . . .

ME:  Let’s go, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  You know he’s going to freeze to death in this weather.

ME:  We can only hope.

GRAMMY:  (smiling)  Now, that's my girl.

Photo:   Lars Jensen

FIREWORKS

ME:  (waking)  Ooh, Grammy, what am I doing here?  What time is it?

GRAMMY:  Three in the afternoon.

ME:  Oh, God.

GRAMMY:  That’s what happens when you drink all night.  Alfie dropped you off.  Seems you never told him where you actually live.

ME:  I ‘m sorry, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Not as sorry as I am.  Julius slept in my bed, you took the couch, I’ve been up all damn night watching that Ryan Seacrest fella, who’ll never be a Dick Clark, I can tell you that, and that boyfriend of yours has been setting off fireworks ever since.

 ME: Fireworks?

GRAMMY:  Can’t you hear them?  I’m surprised nobody’s called the cops yet.  Must have been one hell of a night.

ME:  I don’t know.  I can’t remember anything.

GRAMMY:  Well now, that’s just sad.  Might have had the time of your life, and you don’t even remember it.

ME:  Well, it could have been awful, too.

GRAMMY:  Right.  He’s shooting of fireworks because the night sucked.  You know, Barbara, you really shouldn’t drink.  It makes you dumber than normal.

ME:  Grammy!  That isn’t very nice.

GRAMMY:  Oh well.  Have a shot of whisky and you’ll forget I ever said it.

Photo: Big Huge Labs

FISH STORY

GRAMMY:  Is that you, Barbara?

ME:  Yes, Grammy.  Where are you?

GRAMMY:  In the bathroom.  Call the vet.

ME:  The vet?  Did something happen to snowflake?

GRAMMY:  The damn fish ate her!

ME:  Oh, Grammy.  For a minute I thought you were serious.

GRAMMY:  I am serious.  Now call the damn vet!  Or better yet, pull out the ipecac.  We have to make this fish vomit.

ME:  (sigh)  The things I do to humor that woman.  Where is it, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  In here.  In the medicine cabinet.

ME:  Well, can’t you get it?  You’re already in there.

GRAMMY:  I’m trying to save your damn cat!  So if you ever want to see the stupid thing again, get me that ipecac!

ME:  All right, Grammy.  I’ll get the . . . .  Oh my God!  What have you been feeding that thing?

GRAMMY:  Get me the damn . . . .

ME:  Here.

GRAMMY:  Good.  Now hold the sucker down while I pry its mouth open.  You got it?

ME:  Got it.

FISH:  Blech.

ME:  Snowflake!  You saved her, Grammy!  But the fish . . . it’s . . . dead.

GRAMMY:  Serves the sucker right.  Now how about some fish filets for supper?

Photo:  Stanislav O.

COFFEE AND CIGARETTES

ME:  Grammy?  (cough, hack)  Grammy, are you all right?  Where are you?

GRAMMY:  In the kitchen.  Where else would I be?

ME:  What’s going on? (cough, hack)  Where is all this smoke coming from?  I thought there was a fire.

GRAMMY:  Right.  Like I’d sit here having coffee if the place was burning down around me.  Lord, Barbara, get a brain.

ME:  Then what’s all this (cough, hack) smoke from?

GRAMMY:  (wagging cigarette in the air)  Gee, Barbara, where do you think it came from?  I had some company.  Typhus’ mother came over with a few friends who, unlike you, enjoy a smoke and the occasional shot of whiskey.

ME:  (opening window)  Really, Grammy, I don’t know how you’ve managed to live so long.

GRAMMY:  That’s easy.  Nobody wants me.  I’m too mean for God, and not nasty enough for the devil.  Yep, it's a fine line I'm walking, Barbara.  The way I see it, I’ll probably live forever.  Unless, of course, you push me into an early grave.  Now shut that damn window before I catch phneumonia or freeze to death.

Photos
Haizea Amezaga
RetBaron

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.

Photo Source

UNINVITED GUESTS

GRAMMY:  Jules?  What the hell do you want?

JULES:  I’ve come to spend Christmas with my son.

GRAMMY:  So you came here?  And brought friends?

JULES:  It’s Wednesday.  Isn’t Barbara usually here on Wednesdays?

GRAMMY:  It’s almost midnight, dimbulb.  She does go home once in a while.  You know - to eat and sleep.

JULES:  Oh. Well . . . .

GRAMMY:  Did you bring presents for the boy?

JULES:  I’m, ah . . . a bit short right now.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, I can see that.  Must have spent it all on those fancy duds, huh?

JULES:  Well, you know what they say, Grammy.  Clothes make the man.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, they do.  But we were talking about you. (slams door in his face)

JULES:  Grammy!  We’re not going anywhere!  We’ll be here for Christmas dinner!

GRAMMY:  Good.  Dinner’s at five.  Bring your appetites!
Now where did I put that rat poison?

Photo:  Neil Girling

SEXY SHOES

ME:  It feels so good to finally sit down.  My feet are killing me.  I think I walked at least twenty miles today.

GRAMMY:  Serves you right.  What kind of idiot goes Christmas shopping in high heels?

ME:  Lots of women, Grammy.  Some of us care what we look like when we leave the house.

GRAMMY:  Yep.  And some of us are comfortable with who we are.  If God had wanted us to have pointy feet, He would have given us pointy feet.

ME:  You know, Grammy, that really is a stupid remark.

GRAMMY:  Not as stupid as jamming your feet into those things.  Are your feet pointy?

ME:  No.

GRAMMY:  Are the shoes comfortable?

ME:  No.  Not really.

GRAMMY:  Then why would you squeeze your feet into them?

ME:  Because they’re sexy, Grammy, and I like the way I look in them.  Now can we please talk about something else?

GRAMMY:  Sure.  What do you prefer?  World peace or the sucky economy?

ME:  Actually, I was thinking of Jeannie Myers, next door to me.  She got breast implants hoping they’d help her find a husband.  Can you imagine doing something so ridiculous?

GRAMMY:  (sigh)

BAD INFLUENCE

GRAMMY:  Well, look who’s here.  What happened?  Your new boyfriend busy?

ME:  I’m sorry, Grammy.  But I couldn’t tell you the truth with Julius standing right there.  It didn’t have anything to do with Alfie.  It’s that Typhus.  I don’t want Julius hanging around with him.  He’s a bad influence.  And Julius says he’s sixteen.  Why isn’t he hanging around with friends his own age?

GRAMMY:  How the hell do I know?  I’m not a damn mind-reader.

ME:  Why do you even bother with someone like him?

GRAMMY:  He’s a good kid, Barbara. In his own way.

ME:  Well, his way isn’t my way, and I don’t want it to be Julius’ way.

GRAMMY:  Too late.

ME:  What do you mean ‘too late?’

GRAMMY:  (pointing out the window)  Because there he goes. With Typhus. And his slingshot.

ME:  Julius?  Come back here, Julius!  Oh, this is all your fault, Grammy!

GRAMMY:  Calm down, Barbara.  With any luck, they’ll each rub off on the other and balance themselves out.  And if they don’t . . . well, you might want to find out where the local juvenile hall is.

LONELY

GRAMMY:  (on phone)  Barbara, where are you?  You should have been here a half hour ago.

ME:  Sorry, Grammy.  I meant to call.  I don’t think I’m going to make it today.

GRAMMY:  Why not?  What happened?

ME:  Nothing happened.  Alfie stopped by.  He wants to take me and Julius to the junk yard.

GRAMMY:  The junkyard?

ME:  He’s building something in his garage and I guess he gets most of his materials there.

GRAMMY:  And you’d rather go to the junkyard than come here?

ME:  Grammy . . . .

GRAMMY:  You know, it’s not just me you’re abandoning.  Typhus is here waiting for Julius.

ME:  I’m sorry, Grammy but . . . .

GRAMMY:  Lord, you’re such a girl. (hangs up)

TYPHUS:  They ain’t comin’?

GRAMMY:  Nope.

TYPHUS:  Probably mad about the graffiti, huh?

GRAMMY:  Probably.

TYPHUS:  Well, I guess I’ll get goin’ then.

GRAMMY:  To where?

TYPHUS:  I don’t know.

GRAMMY:  Know how to play poker?

TYPHUS:  Sure.

GRAMMY:  Good.  ‘Cause I’ve got me this internet thingy.  Pull up a chair.

PAINTING

ME:  Hello!  Grammy?  Julius?  I’m back!

JULIUS:  Mom!

ME:  How’s my little boy?  Did you miss me?  What did you do while I was gone?

JULIUS:  I went to the fruit stand, all by myself.  And Grammy gave me a slingshot and I shot a bird right out of the sky!  And I made a new friend.  His name is Typhus.

ME:  Typhus?  Isn’t that a disease?

GRAMMY:  Oh, let it go, Barbara.  Kids can’t help what their parents name them.

ME:  Who is Typhus?

GRAMMY:  Just a neighborhood kid.

JULIUS:  He’s really cool, Mom.  He likes art, just like me.  And he’s a really good painter, even if the police say he isn’t.

 ME: The police?  Grammy, why is he mentioning the police?

GRAMMY:  Oh, the boy just had a little misadventure, is all.  But it’s all done and over with now.

ME:  What kind of misadventure?

JULIUS:  We painted a train, Mom!  You should see it!

ME:  Grammy!

GRAMMY:  Hey, he told me he wanted to paint a train.  I thought he wanted to paint a picture of one. How was I supposed to know he meant the actual damn thing? 

Photo:  Banksy

SNOW BUNNIES

JULIUS:  Grammy!  Come see what I made!

GRAMMY:  Not something made out of toilet paper rolls, I hope?

JULIUS:  Uh, uh.  I made it with Typhus.

GRAMMY:  Typhus?  What happened to Brian?

JULIUS:  Typhus is cool.  Brian is boring.

GRAMMY:  Well, that sure as hell backfired.

JULIUS:  What?

GRAMMY:  Nothing.  Show me what you made.

JULIUS:  How do you like it?

GRAMMY:  Snow bunnies!  Not bad, Julius.  Not bad at all.  And that’s a nice little nest you got there for the babies.

JULIUS:  That’s not a nest, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  No?  Then what the hell is it?

JULIUS:  The daddy bunny ate the Mommy and the baby bunnies.  Can’t you see his teeth?

GRAMMY:  Why would he eat his family?

JULIUS:  Because they tried to get away.  Typhus said if the daddy bunny couldn’t have them, no one could.  So he ate them.

GRAMMY:  Oh, geez.

JULIUS:  What’s the matter, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  Your mother’s gonna tar and feather me.  That’s what.  (sigh)  Come on.  Let’s go inside.  I think I need a shot of whiskey.

Photo:  V.E. Velanis