Past Imperfect

Past Imperfect – #77

This is how one turns to a life of crime and indiscretion: When your older sisters force you to wear ridiculous costumes and then torment you further by laughing uproariously, despite their inability to arrange Grandma Bennett’s heirloom china in a proper table setting. The day will come, dear inebriated sisters. The day will come.

There was a knock at the door. Oh? Perhaps that day had come sooner than expected. One could always dream.

The older sisters did not respond in any way to the knocking, perhaps due to their inebriation or their general laziness when it came to proper social behavior. Little Sister sighed, hopped down from her chair, and trotted to the cottage door. She wrenched said door open with a little more force than necessary, because bitterness served at the dinner table often escalates into reactionary displays of anarchy at odd moments.

“Hello!” said the woman on the stoop, wearing an overly-frilly outfit and clutching what may or may not be a casserole dish containing Shepherd’s Pie. “My name is Mary, and I’m looking for my lost lamb.”

Little Sis: “I’m her.”

Mary: “But my little lambkins is white as snow.”

Little Sis: “There was an incident and I’ve been tainted. It was a wretched ordeal and I can’t give you any more details without being given a sedative.”

Mary: “And my lambie is a boy, not a girl.”

Little Sis: “Okay, fine. The incident partly involved a threshing machine. Are you happy now, making me relive the horror? I now have to use a different bathroom where all of the facilities are in the wrong places. In more ways than one.”

Mary: “Oh, I would never dream of acting in an inappropriate manner. That’s why I brought this freshly-baked Shepherd’s Pie on my first visit to your lovely home. It’s just proper etiquette.”

Little Sis: “It’s not a lovely home and etiquette has never been even briefly considered within these walls. There will eventually be a documentary made about what happened here, with neighbors being interviewed and asked why they didn’t report the screams. But I’d rather not be around when that happens. Please take me with you wherever you are going. You can dye my wool if that’s important to you. It wouldn’t be the first time today I’ve pretended to be something I’m not.”

Mary: “But what should I do with my pie?”

Little Sis: “It depends. If you’re talking about your personal pie, you can do whatever you want with it, I won’t judge. If you’re talking about the casserole, just leave it on the stoop. My sisters will eventually find it when they run out of beer and have to venture to the corner market in a lumbering and shameful manner that happens so regularly you set your watch by it.”

Mary: “Well, I don’t know. Doesn’t something seem to be a bit off here? Are you even of age to be making your own decisions?”

Little Sis: “I could be asking both of those questions about your pie. Either one of them.”

Mary: “Fair enough. Still, I’m not sure if there is any benefit for me in this situation. I mean, I would love to have my little lamb tagging along behind me again, as it’s part of my social-network branding and my followers expect to see such. Then again, your sisters sound spiteful, like those basement-dwelling people who make wretched comments on blogs out of pure meanness and nothing else. I really don’t have time to delete the poisonous remarks, not when I have to post at least ten daily images of myself in the latest Shepherdess Couture, looking pensive on a beach whilst gazing at the waves splashing on the shore.”

Little Sis: “Yes, it must be very stressful thinking of new ways to love yourself every day. Poor thing. But I think I can sweeten the pot, here. On my way to this door that I will hopefully be closing for the last time, I managed to swipe all the stock certificates, banking account access codes, powers of attorney, and online passwords that my sisters only thought they had hidden from me. (These actions were not properly captured by the writer in his narrative because he didn’t think of them until now.) With just a wee bit of deception, I can easily be in control of a family fortune that will allow us to have all the Shepherd’s Pie we could ever want.”

Mary: “Oh. Well, you should have led with that. I’m all about deception if it can lead to personal gain. After all, the poem about me was not meant to be a celebration of barnyard camaraderie. It’s actually a ribald ditty meant to encourage customers to visit the Red Light District in New Orleans.”

Little Sis: “Are we back to your pie again?”

Mary: “When is it ever not really about pie?”

Little Sis: “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Mary: “Stop trying to trump me with the best closing line.”

Little Sis: “Stop talking about your pie.”

Writer: “Can both of you just stop yammering? It’s after midnight and I’d really like to post this thing and go to bed.”

 

16 replies »

    • Well, when one has the opportunity to break for freedom, one doesn’t always have time to get particular about the details. But Little Sis had best make sure that Mary always walks in front of her or there could be a surprise issue…

      Liked by 1 person

  1. I’m with Claudette … Shepherds Pie is not made with any old meat, it’s made with lamb meat. How many innocents HAS Mary slaughtered. Are those the screams the neighbors will hear and will later be questioned about? Presumably the inebriated sisters will take no notice since their only concern is drinking beer out of bone china off a horribly mis-arranged table cloth. It’s that, given my OCD nature that I find most concerning about the entire sorry tale ….

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I didn’t do that to my younger sisters. That’s what cousins and next door neighbours are for. I remember having to cut a neighbour out of some elaborate knots that my 11 year old sister had tied around her. I think they had discovered a girl guide manual and our dear neighbour agreed to be a boat. xo

    Liked by 1 person

    • My siblings and I went through periods where we would do wretched things to each other, so forcing someone to wear animal-based couture could easily have been on the table. I don’t recall us ever taking such an opportunity, but it might have happened to ME and therefore I have blocked the whole thing out. (As for the Boated Neighbor, that sounds like a really swell blog post just dying to be written…)

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Well at least we know, in the tale given by a most pensive writer, who the ‘black sheep’ in that family IS/WAS..(sorry couldn’t resist). Now all this talk of pie has resurrected a memory (lucky YOU). My father was fond of saying, whenever he caught one of his children gossiping, to mind one’s own pie. Now I have questions about the subtle, perhaps double entendre that Pops threw out there. My own pie, whatever the meaning, was ALWAYS minded. And Crusty… 😉

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hmm. I know dang well that I already responded to this comment, some extended mess about which of our pies might be crustier, but now, of course, I don’t remember the details. Sigh. This is one of those days when I think wicked thoughts about WordPress…

      Like

  4. Well, as a youngest sister, I applaud Lil Sis seeking asylum wherever she may find it, but I worry for her safety at the hands of a pie wielding Mary. Even so, she must be better than a basement dwelling blogger. Egads, such a choice for our poor little lamb.

    Liked by 1 person

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