Shit Wrecked: Wine on the Bitch

SHIT WRECKED: WINE ON THE BITCH

 

I have a friend. She's the blogger at Shitastrophy. If you haven't visited her, you should. Her life will make you feel all warm and fuzzy about your train wreck. 
 
She's been asking me to share my 'Shit'.
 
I told her I don't have any.
 
She called me on that (and other colorful things). 
 
So, because I love her sooooo, and don't want her to feel all alone, I give you a brief memory of a...
 
Stellar Parenting Moment 
in the life of 
A Pleasant House.
 
My husband and I bought a house.
 
Nothing exceptional about that.
 
And, it was purchased at a very good price (steal) from a very insane woman (like: sues her ex-husband for his sperm two years after their divorce crazy)- and she had a pen.
 
This bitch of a big mouth was a columnist in the local newspaper and she spent the next ten years badmouthing us and every improvement we made to the house.
 
She insulted our large parties that often flowed onto the yard ("their party didn't look well attended"), the color we painted the house ("Yellow? In this town?"), the landscaping (some people just don't have any respect for ancient trees"), our children's occasional pubic faux pas's (Some, well known young locals have gotten in trouble again"), each time our home was on the fundraising house tour ("It's sooooo boring! Why would anyone want to see it?") and generally any opportunity she could to piss me off. 
 
I always looked the other way, until...
 
We were moving, and had put the house on the market. We had a very generous offer. I was in New Orleans looking for a house, when suddenly my cell phone started going crazy.
 
"Cheryl. Have you seen the paper?"
"Cheryl, you better come home. She's up to it again."
"Mom! My friends are all coming up to me in the hall! You won't believe what she's done! I'm leaving school!"
 
Great. Just what I needed.
 
clickclickclick
 
viewing the on-line version, and.....
 
OMG
 
"I understand, that my former home has been purchased for the unfathomable price of ($$$$) which is curious since they only paid me ($). So, some advise newcomers. The house isn't worth it. No one thinks so. A Welcome to our quant community might not be so welcoming. The walls are haunted."
 
clickclickclick
 
Calling my lawyer, her managing editor, Ben.
 
fastforward
 
The next month was the annual fundraising community party. I always attended. Everyone did. Including her.
 
Hummmmmm. What to do? What to do?
 
1) I could just ignore her.
2) I could not go.
3) I could make her wish she had never uttered my name.
 
Number 3
 
It was a beautiful spring evening.
The event was scheduled to begin at 7pm, but I, knowing how these events fleshed themselves out- knew to arrive at 8. Everyone would be there by then.
 
I walked. 
 
"Why are you walking Mom?"
"It's a beautiful night and I thought I'd enjoy the exercise." (not even close)
"Are ya going to the blahblahblah?"
"Yes. Do you like my outfit?"
"You look okay. When are you gonna be home?"
"Oh, I don't know. I'll have to see what the evening brings." (remember driver's license and phone number of attorney)
"How're you gonna get back?
"I'll catch a ride. You're aunt will be there. She'll drive me home."
"Don't drink too much."
"Never."
"Mom. No trouble."
"Perish the thought."
 
Upon entering I was greeted by friends, far and wide. These were my people. MY PEOPLE. 
 
Hello, old High School football coach, who's son is dating my daughter, how are you? And, Yes, my BFF from Middle School, I did get that memo. Of course I'll pick up your aging mother and get her to that appointment. What's that? Oohhhh, you sly dog ex-boyfriend you're still full of piss & vinegar aren't you---- MY PEOPLE.
 
Where was the wine bar? Oh, there you are.
 
Yes, Mr. Mayor. My Mom's still great. Thank you. I'll have red wine. Make it two. Glasses.
 
I dramatically turned and scanned the room, a devilish grin lurking at the corners of my plump lips.
 
There she went.... all 5 foot 8 of beeee..atch, out the door for a ciggie (like shooting fish in a barrel) and I made my waywayway.
 
Hips swaying, chin level with the ground, one glass down and the other in my hand, the music is grinding, the talk is at full throttle.
 
"Hello", I said loudly with an outstretched hand in greeting.
 
"Why Hello. How are you?", she replied, nervous, as she placed her limp wad in my palm.
 
"I'll be better in a minute."
 
 My hand got tight, and I pulled her in real close- like kissin' cousins. 
 
Swissssssshhhhhh.
 
Red wine has never looked like a more appropriate accessory for an expensive white blouse on a blubbering boob that had it comin'. 
 
"What. Have. You. Done?!"
 
Smile never waning, and a step closer for a friendly whisper, "If you ever talk again about me, my family, or my life again, this will look like amateur hour. Got it?"
 
"Police! Police!"
 
And I turned and walked away- sort of.
 
As I was approaching my house, I saw flashing lights going up my street, so I ducked into a bush and called my daughter to come pick me up.
 
"Bryn. It's Mom. I need a ride."
 
"Where are you! The cops have just been here. They say you assaulted someone!!!"
 
"That's ridiculous. Just close all of the drapes, turn out the lights and go around the block twice. Blink your high beams as you approach. I'll be under the big bush at the corner of South & Main."
 
"MOM!!!! I"m calling Dad!!!!!" (Who was thankfully out of town).
 
"No. For the love of God let's not get him involved. He always makes such a big deal out of things."
 
"Jesus Christ Mom! Okay I'm coming. You're an ass."
 
"Love you too darling. Kisses and hugs!"
 
And so it went that I found myself being investigated for an assault with a lethal glass of Pino Noir and the bitch with the pen...
 
 was never heard of again.
 
However, Princess Bryn won't go near a glass of Red.
 
 
CHEERS!
 
 
 
 
You might also like:
 
A Bloggers Journey- Lesson 3
 
Northern Whites
 
Northern exposure
 
 
All Creatures Great and Imaginary
 

Bottoms up~ Cheryl

Recent Posts by apleasanthouse

Menu