Gisela: “Oh, that looks like the perfect house to flip so we can make a ton of money by simply ripping out all the interior walls and making it an open floor plan.”
Boyd: “I don’t know. Maybe we shouldn’t mess with this one. I did some research and apparently there was a lot of cross-dressing and homicide going on up in there back in the day.”
Gisela: “Oh, please. Nobody cares about history. That’s why there are so many potential home buyers who pretend that they love historic architecture but all they really want is to gut the place and make it look like something it was never meant to be. Don’t you watch the HGTV channel?”
Boyd: “I do watch it. I also watch the Paranormal Channel and, nine times out of ten, murder houses continue to be murder houses no matter how much subway tile you use during the flip.”
Gisela: “You’re just weak. You need to stop worrying about the right thing to do and take advantage of people who base their lives on what’s trending on Twitter. It’s the American way.”
Boyd: “Wait a minute. Who the hell is standing in that window? I thought this place was vacant.”
Gisela: “Oh, that’s just Mother. She’s really sweet. In fact, she wants to meet you.”
Boyd: “Meet me? I don’t want to meet anybody who lives in a house that’s supposed to be empty. That’s got wrong written all over it.”
Gisela: “Don’t be such a wimp. Come on, let’s run up there. It’ll be fun. Oh, but first you’ll need to sign the guest book in the little motel office to the right.”
Boyd: “Guest book? Motel office? Why do I have so many questions in this conversation? I’ve got a bad vibe here and I think we should just-”
Gisela: “Sign the book, Boyd. Sign it!”
Previously published in “Crusty Pie” and “Bonnywood Manor”. Revised and extended for this post.
Later that night, long after a certain indiscretion led to one of our stars no longer requiring room service, a discussion took place in the cellar…
Norman: “Well, all the right things have been hidden and we’re set for tomorrow’s guests.”
Mother: “You’re such a good boy.”
Norman: “Say, Mother, I’ve been thinking.”
Mother: “I didn’t raise you to think, child. I raised you to do.”
Norman: “Yes, but maybe that Gisela woman was right. Perhaps we should consider a bit of remodeling. Some of the things around here are so full of dust that it’s the only thing holding them together.”
Mother: “Norman, you don’t do well with change. We’ve talked about this. Well, you have. Besides, all that new-age home design is a bunch of crap. Open-concept? Pffft. And these addled parents with newborns who insist on a floor plan that lets them keep an eye on their kids no matter where they are? Are they serious? You’re going to design your home based on a two-year-old that is only going to be two years old for a brief burp in the life of a house. Lord love a duck.”
Norman: “Well, maybe that child likes to be seen. Maybe they just want to be noticed, Mother.”
Mother: “I suppose you have a point. I haven’t seen you in fifty years and yet you see me every day. Come here, give me a hug.”
Norman does, and he smiles contentedly and delusionally.
Mother does not smile.
Because you need lips to do that.
Categories: Past Imperfect