Thursday, February 2, 2012

Short Story: Self-Destruct

Dejected and fuming, I sit at my own kitchen counter absorbing the silence. I hate it in here. But does she listen? No.
“Peach would be such a lovely shade for those mahogany cabinets,” she’ll say.
“I’m tearing those out,” I’ll respond.
“What? Why? They’re perfectly charming and were original to the house!”
“Oh come on, Mom, the old owners put them up in 1970 along with the brown and orange striped contact paper on the inside. I’m tearing them out.”
“Sweetie, that’s such a waste! They’re perfectly fine, you only see that paper when you open them up!  We can put up some new contact paper! Oh! And I saw the PERFECT handles for them at Wal-Mart the other day! I’ll just pick them up so we can see how they look before you throw your money away! Just wait, you’ll love it!”
Mom is the kind of woman who talks in exclamation points.

Short Story: Building Betty

            Nothing really gets my grit like someone telling me that I can’t do something. To be told that I am incapable makes my hackles rise like nothing else, it ticks me off to impossible degrees and makes me act... well, stubborn is a good word. I’ve been told by many a loved one that once I get into "that" mind set, I’m going to be "stubborn as hell" until whatever task I am being told I could "never do" is accomplished. No matter what that task may be.
            Not just accomplished, really. I kick ass and take names when I put my mind to it.
            I was told at a very young age that I wouldn’t graduate high school because no one in my family had and I was just as good for nothing as the rest of 'em. I graduated high school and then made my way through with a masters in Physical Therapy. I was told I was rough, stubborn, and that no man would ever want me. I’ve been blissfully married for over ten years, and before I met my husband, I had several charming boyfriends and a successful string of steamy lover affairs.
            Take that, Judy Jones.