Thursday, September 23, 2010
Angela over at Jaded Love Junkie is hosting her first blogfest, and I inadvertently signed up for it - this morning! So here is my lame entry.
Taking the back stairs, or what Mom said were the servants’ stairs, I passed through the butler pantry, then dragged myself into the kitchen. Mom was rinsing her coffee cup in the sink. “You’re running late; your sisters have already left.” She looked me up and down as I poured myself a cup of coffee. “What are you supposed to be?”
“Doesn’t anyone in this household say ‘Good morning,’ anymore?”
I don’t know why it even mattered to me, since I couldn’t manage good manners myself before lunch, let alone proper etiquette.
“Good morning, Alex,” cooed my mother snidely. “What are you supposed to be dressed as this morning?”
“A fairy princess. Where’s the sugar?”
“Thought so. The black lipstick was a dead giveaway. How many times do I have to tell you that stuff stunts your growth?” She turned her back to the sink and leaned against the counter as she crossed her arms.
“The lipstick or the sugar?”
“The coffee. You can’t afford to lose out in that department.”
“I believe it’s referred to as a ‘failure to thrive’, or so I’m told.” After opening three cupboards, I found the sugar bowl and tipped it over my coffee cup.
“That’s a load of crap. You’re petite. That doctor was trying to find a way to blame me for your small size as a baby. You ate like a horse – that hasn’t changed –you just didn’t sleep more than two or three hours a day. Without rest, it’s hard for a growing body to…well, grow.”
“Don’t worry, I still blame you.”
Mom playfully smacked my shoulder with the back of her hand.
“Hey! Hot stuff coming through. I want it on my insides, not my outsides. Is there any bread left? I smell burned toast.”
“That’s it there on the table.” Next to a jar of raspberry jam and a pot of honey was a stack of almost black toast. Martha Stewart my mother wasn’t. Even though she was home all day, she spent most of her time transcribing medical records for doctors in her home office.
“How does the cereal situation look?” I asked as I placed my coffee cup on the table.
“We’re out of milk. I need to pick up some groceries today.”
“Can you pick up some more frozen mice for Charlie?” I rubbed the bite on my arm. “And I suppose eggs and hash browns with a side of pancakes are out of the question?” I opened the refrigerator door and basked in the wave of cool air.
“Hello? Will you look at the clock? Time to get rolling, birthday girl.”
I cringed. “I don’t do birthdays.”
“You’re too young to be trying to dodge them already. You’ll regret skipping them, mark my words.”
“I only regret skipping meals. Birthdays – not so much.” Time to change the subject. “Where’s Dad?”