Snowbird LustPosted: March 5, 2012
Bill’s been helping our neighbor, Gisella, with her computer. He’s been dinking around with it for weeks, keeping it on life support so she wouldn’t have to buy a new one. But finally, last weekend, it took its last breathe and exhaled the blue screen of death. So Gisella bought a new HP desktop, which Bill set up for her. As payback, she invited us to a home cooked, authentic German dinner. She also invited our mutual friends and snowbird neighbors, Fletch and Shelly.
After gorging ourselves, we waddled back across the street to our house where Bill made a beeline for his PJs. I stopped in the living room because Mom wanted a full report.
I explained what Roulades were, how Gisella made the red cabbage with a hint of cranberries and fresh grapefruit from her tree, and how the rich, brown gravy was to die for.
“You know, you’ve got quite a pooch going there,” was her only comment. She patted her own well-rounded tummy as emphasis. “You probably shouldn’t have eaten so much.”
“Probably not, but it was great. We can both start a diet tomorrow if you want,” I suggested. “You could stand to lose some weight too,” I added, slapping my hips as retaliatory emphasis.
“Who’s Shelly?” she asked, doing a typical U-turn when she didn’t like the topic of the conversation. “Is she the woman across the street?”
“No, Mom, that’s Judy, the renter. Shelly is Fletch’s wife,” I said as I started to leave the room.
“That’s impossible!” she exclaimed, stopping me in my tracks in the foyer. “She doesn’t come out here with Fletch. She stays in Michigan.”
“No she doesn’t,” I argued. “She comes here every winter. She just goes back a couple of weeks earlier.”
“No she doesn’t,” she insisted. “She hates it here.”
“Mom, 30 seconds ago you didn’t even know who Shelly was. Trust me, it was Fletch’s wife.”
“If you say so,” she grumbled.
As I started down the hall to our bedroom I could hear her muttering “But I’ll bet his real wife would have something different to say if she was here!”