Douglass: “Mae, my sugar bunny, whatever is troubling you so?
Mae: “Oh, Douglass, the agony is so intense that I can barely speak!”
Douglass: “Now, now. Stop writhing like a Pentecostal. Tell me what has happened. Are you hurt? Is there some blood loss that I need to attend to?”
Mae: “I think I’m okay, physically. But the psychological damage is terrible, ripping me apart. I don’t know that I can go on.”
Douglass: “The children! Where are the children? Did you leave them at the park again?”
Mae: “The children are fine. I sent them to Mother’s just as soon as it happened. Why do you always have to make everything about you and your ability to procreate? Like I had nothing to do with it.”
Douglass: “See, now you’re misdirecting your hostility. We talked about this with Oprah. Let’s not focus on the darts you’re throwing and instead look at why you want to throw the darts. Do you remember the breathing exercises?”
Mae: “Oprah can sit on it and spin. I’ve been severely traumatized and you’re babbling about talk show hosts.”
Douglass: “I’m not the only one who is babbling at the moment. But let’s talk you down. I’m here now. Mainly because I just got off work and I live in this house, but I’m also here for you. Tell me how this all started.”
Mae: “Well, I had just finished putting the frosting on the rum cake I baked this morning, and I thought I might relax for a few minutes and watch something on TV.”
Douglass: “I love the frosting you make for the rum cake. See, I’m offering support.”
Mae: “Rum cake doesn’t normally have frosting. I do that for you. The rum part is for me. Anyway, I checked to make sure that the children hadn’t destroyed anything of value, and then I settled in on the couch, turned on the TV, and began flipping through the two channels that we get in this nowhere town we’ve been trapped in ever since we stupidly had sex behind the barn dance and we had to get married and-”
Douglass: “Darts again. Let’s focus on what’s important. What did you see on the TV?”
Mae, pausing, tears brimming in her eyes: “It was… he was right there and I couldn’t move fast enough to turn the TV off and get the image out of my mind and… it was horrible, Douglass, unbearably horrible!”
Douglass: “Who? Who was on TV?”
Mae: “It was Republican Senator Lindsey Graham! Once again spewing lies out of his ass faster than a rabid beaver can chew through a dead tree.”
Douglass: “Oh my GOD! You stay right there and don’t move. I’ll go call the pharmacist.”
He raced out of the room.
Ortensia Lucy Claudette Gunroswell walked into the room, peeved. “I have an issue with this post.”
Mae had little time for this brazen walk-on by a composite character representing some of the non-American guests at Bonnywood, especially if said character was not sporting a prescription bottle. “Don’t look at me. Talk to the writer.”
Ortensia walked to the front of the stage and tapped on the glass. “Hey, Mr. Writer Man, can I have a word?”
Me, discreetly sliding aside the half-empty bottle of beer so it was no longer in camera range: “Um, hello. Is there something I can help you with?”
Ortensia: “Indeed, there is. I thought I should point out that many of your international visitors are not familiar with your local politics, and when you inject said locality into your otherwise enriching stories, it’s a bit of a buzz kill.”
Me, slipping into spin-control mode as I’m fully aware that the majority of the Bonnywood regulars actually hail from places other than the USA, a situation that is both daunting and thrilling: “Please forgive my transgressions. I do worry a bit about that angle. As I was just saying to Osyth when she checked into one of the suites in the International Artists Enclave at Bonnywood, perhaps I shouldn’t focus so much on-”
Ortensia: “Hold up. What is this Enclave of which you speak?”
Me, not manipulating the conversation in any way, swear: “Well, it’s a special part of the Bonnywood Manor resort and spa reserved for fashionable, multi-cultural creative types who just want to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony.”
Ortensia: “I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”
Me, still not manipulating, swear: “All accommodations are free. Because we need more singing.”
Ortensia: “I’m in. Book me a room.”
Me: “So does this mean we’re good now?”
Ortensia: “Of course. But I’m not so sure about Mae and Douglass, as we seem to have left them blowing in the wind, without answers.”
Me: “Got it. Let me finish that out.”
Douglass, racing back into the room: “Okay, the pharmacist is sending a special delivery via courier. We should be back to our happy place within minutes. Wait, why do you have that expression on your face?”
Mae: “Sorry, love. I fell asleep for a second and I just had the strangest dream where the good people of the world finally rise above and vanquish all the wretchedness that shouldn’t be happening.”
Douglass: “Yep, that was a crazy dream, alright. Who seriously believes that things will be better if we simply talk to one another as equals?”
Me, discreetly sliding aside the half-empty bottle of anxiety meds: “I do.”
Previously published, modified a bit. I must say this: The character of “Ortensia” should not be considered a reflection of the true Ortensia who regularly visits this site, sharing her wisdom and grace. I hope she forgives me for the creative whimsicality, and I hope the same for the three other delightful international Bonnywood guests who composed the remainder of her composite name. Hopefully this will help: Your suites have been booked in the Artists Enclave. Please enjoy the complimentary champagne. And feel free to turn on the TV to any of the channels, because we edit out the rabid beavers, as any decent enclave should.
Categories: Past Imperfect
Bonnywood Manor 
For shame! If God wanted us to simply talk to each other as equals and have whirled peas and stuff, She wouldn’t have given us Big Pharma.
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Or did Big Pharma give us God? I’ll get back to you after I take another pill…
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Move over Descartes!
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Lies spewing out? Are there flies buzzing around the nether regions? If we all pass that message on in happy equality, we can all share the shovels, bury that diarrhea puddle, and plant a tree on it.
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Such festive imagery! But I do agree, we need lots more shovels and burying and planting. And weed-killer…
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Here’s hoping Mae recovers.
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It’s possible that she might be beyond that point…
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Frosting on rum cake = gilding the lily. Kinda/sorta like the double s in our hero’s name.
That’s me – all about the trivial. Because the bigger calamity is just too overwhelming to consider.
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And that’s why trivia is one of the most frequent guests at Bonnywood…
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As one of your non-American readers I think you’re on safe ground believing that we know more about what happens there than some might think.
Good to see the reference to ‘Osyth’ too – she is the one you need to blame for pointing me in the direction of your blog.
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Osyth led you here, did she? Well, now, that’s a very nifty pedigree. I think I may have even known this bit of intel at one point, but the detail has long since faded from my brain…
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Yes, she and I are Facebook friends and her blog was wonderful. I live in hope for a return.
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After Dons latest ‘will sign, won’t sign, call me after eighteen holes and we’ll see. Maybe.’ game of egotistical one up-manship even Loyal Lyndsey would welcome a decent dose of lithium. Don might need a bucket of Ritalin the way he’s ‘behaving’ lately. For the rest of your fevered populace, Walgreens is on nationwide standby till the 20th of January. Keep calm, breathe in, breathe out, soon the miasma will lift.
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Lindsey’s pathetic suck-uppery should be studied by scientists. How can one get THAT far up someone’s ass and live to tell about it?
I have the Walgreen’s app on my phone. Two clicks and I have a fresh bottle of happy waiting for me, mmm hmm…
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Lindsey Graham is the stuff from which nightmares are made. Pass the tranquilizers.
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Passing. The Graham Cracker is just a soulless worm. (My apologies to the actual worms of the world, who just want to dig tunnels and play Parcheesi on Saturday nights.)
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I do, too, Brian. Here’s hoping we’ll be having lots of those conversations in 2021.
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I always hope, even when I’m being a snarky little ass about it… 😉
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Who could resist a name like Ortensia?
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There’s just a lovely ring to it, yes?
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Yes!!
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I sense a disturbance in the Force. Someone, somewhere (not naming any names nor pointing any fingers) uttered a ‘must not be named’ NAME.
Oh the humanity!! The resultant ripple effect from that name naming have the possibility of shattering the (delusion) ILLUSION that SOME folks have, that those who spew diarrhea from their oral cavity (which was never designed for the purpose), are actually spewing pearls of wisdom. To actually write the name of those unmentionable sh*t spewers is to invite the delusionists to gather. And you don’t need that mess on your lawn….. do you? I’ve only heard vaguely of L.G. (see? Easy not to SAY that awful thing aloud) 😉 but the bell rings loud enough to be heard in this red state to the north of y’all. And some (many, much more than is sensible) will follow the peal. I don’t need that mess on MY lawn. Uh, there was a point to this, but I fear I lost it. Say? Did you say you had ‘special’ enclaves in Bonnywood for the weary traveler who might have imbibed too much gin? I’ll take one!
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Oh, there are definitely special enclaves at Bonnywood, lovely dwelling destinations placed here and there in some of the themed grottos. I thought we had previously selected a permanent residence for you at one point, but this might be a false memory that I’m confusing with someone else who has already been slotted. No matter, rest assured that you have delightful accommodations awaiting you at Bonnywood, any time, compliments of the house…
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Dudes… I just baked some brownies… they’re much better than what Big Pharma offers. Chocolate and special natural ingredients… (no nuts in consideration of those with
allergies)
My brownies are guaranteed to make the harmony happen. I’ll even send the Writer Dude the recipe so they’re available with the champagne in the Enclave rooms.😘☮🍫🌿
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You are surely one of the most thoughtful brownie-baking people on the planet. I have already alerted the cooking staff that we will need to update all of our menus, especially the room-service offerings, to properly reflect the latest option.
Now, as for the harmonizing and the singing, will you be available to chair the Tune Selection and Atmospheric Acclimation Committee for our International Arts Festival later in the year? The dates haven’t yet been finalized, what with that wretched Covid mess, but it never hurts to get cracking with the planning as soon as possible…
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You’ve not forgotten our midnight (well midnight PST (YOUR time Angie, I’m an hour ahead or behind (??) you in my MST, and I think dear Brian is CST…geezus. This is America, can’t we all be on the SAME DAMNED CLOCK? LOL.. Our midnight (1 or 2 a.m.) gathering to hoist a glass of something sparkling and possibly alcoholic (for those who drink) and welcome in the baby New Year upon whom our future rests? Those brownies will be ‘just the thing’ to waft us along, and the couches at Bonnywood are so comfortable, one may sit down, fall asleep and never want to leave. I’ll catch you ‘here’ ! Cheers Angie!
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Well, dang. I feel a bit blue in that I completely forgot about the virtual celebration I noticed you and Angie had been discussing in the waning days of 2020. I fully meant to finagle my way into the festivities, but I can’ remember squat from one minute to the next. Partner and I ended up having a very sedate NYE. He met with a few work friends earlier in the day, and then we simply watched a few movies and noshed on nibbly bits…
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Actually, in real life? I was fast asleep by midnight. My physical being these days is unreliable, and you might find me nodding off in the midst of most anything at all. Glad hubby didn’t survive to witness that, because nodding off at certain points in a relationship is unforgivable. I mean they went to all that effort to make ‘it’…. Uerm. Koff. Is it me, or is it a bit sad that my on-line life and my real life are so vastly different? But I don’t age ‘in virtual land”, and I’m lots more limber too. Can imbibe things like champagne (the good stuff of course) without going into a coma. It’s an epiphany that’s going to intrigue me for a while here..
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I’m really annoyed with the “surprise” naps. Sometimes I can feel them coming on, so that’s not so bad, as I can fight them. (I really do try to avoid sleeping during the day, as I have such fits with insomnia at night.) But the times when I’m in the middle of watching a TV show or reading a book and I am FULLY ALERT and invested yet I suddenly wake up twenty minutes later? What the hell? It’s just wrong.
But yes, our virtual lives are much more exciting and everyone is beautiful and charming and limber. Well, mostly… 😉
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LOL. Now to think of it, the prescription drug intake has to jump up considerably when politics gets crazier and crazier. How insane is politics? Let me count the ways. Oh wait, I need some prescription drug to engage in such a depressing activity.
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Right? It becomes a never-ending cycle, what with one begetting the other and the reverse. Oh, for the simple days when our only concerns were getting the crops in on time and milking the cows. Of course, I’ve never experienced such, but I like to imagine that it was much more peaceful… 😉
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How much a night for the rooms? :))))
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Depends on how badly you want the room… 😉
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Hmmm. Pretty bad!!
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