Day Four, A to Z Blog Challenge: D is for Delete

_{Today I promised you all a deleted scene. It’s back story. Something I seem to have talent for but no one wants in the middle of some moving scene. So I save every piece because …well…because I just do. I can’t help it. Does this constitute hoarding in anyway?}

_{So enjoy this little scrap that’s been scrapped while I loppity-lop hair today. I’ll be hoppity-hop-hopping in the blog field later this evening.}

 

_{Mom lugged her Tupperware cases into the living room.}

_{A man who had to weigh three-hundred pounds lay on the living room floor, his head propped up on an elbow. He looked at me and said, “You must be the Southern dumbbell your mom’s been talking about.” He laughed and ignored that mom could have used his help with her cases.}

_{“Now Jim, don’t scare her off like that.” Mrs. Butz said. “Max is going to be thrilled when he sees her.”}

_{Mr. Butz rolled into a sitting position to face us. “Where is that peckerhead, anyway?”}

_{“He’ll be home soon. He promised. Halleluiah.”}

_{Mom busied herself with setting up her Tupperware, oblivious to Mr. Butz. Complaining about his language would be no use. She’d make light of it or say I made it all up.}

_{Mrs. Butz’s friends trickled in. They all shared the same vocabulary “Praise the Lord”, “Halleluiah,” “The Lord told me such and such.” Weird, but I smiled and acted like everything was normal.}

_{The pick-up truck driver arrived halfway through mom’s demonstration and grabbed a straight chair to sit across from me. He wore black corduroy pants, a blue tee shirt, and a dark red ball cap. Dark brown curls falling out from under it. Gray pointy cowboy boots on his feet. He smelled of English Leather, motor oil, and cigarettes, even from eight feet away. Black grease in his cuticles and under his fingernails. My nose wrinkled of its own accord.}

_{Mrs. Butz shot up and interrupting mom’s four-dozenth lift-lid-and-press demonstration and pointed at me. “Max, that’s Lila, the girl across the street.” Max grinned. “Her Mother, Babs is giving our Tupperware party. That’s her over there.” She pointed at mom, but Max neither turned his head nor refocused his grin.}

_{Something in me lurched, I stood. “Mom, I can’t stay. I have something to do and need to go.” I did have something to do. My room needed cleaning, and my laundry needed folded and put away. Cynthia and I could go to the movies.}

_{Mom put down the green lettuce keeper she’d been burping and frowned. “What are you talking about?”}

_{The Tupperware passing among the women stopped, everyone’s eyes on me.}

_{“I…I….”}

_{The women waited. Mom glared. Max grinned.}

_{“Um…uh.” What I wanted to say hovered in my voice box.}

_{Mom slammed down the lettuce keeper and walked toward me. Whatever hovered in my voice box took cover. “I’m waiting,” she said, her left brow cocked. That thing was on alert at all times, ready to rise when I crossed the line.}

_{The women, Tupperware in their laps, looked at each other.}

_{Max smirked. I wanted to stick my finger down my throat and gag.}

_{Mom glowered.}

Day Two A to Z Blog Challenge: B is for Babbling Babs

Just wanted you all to know right now I’m lopping hair. So tonight I’ll be able to make rounds to other blogs. You all have fun and great day!

Below is a line from Lila’s mother, Babs.

Mom squeezed herself through the gap between him and the door. “You really worry me.” She pushed herself into the room, racing toward me. “Were you talking to another imaginary person?” Her eyes shot to the scissors. “What are you doing? Are you cutting up your wrists?” She squinted her gray eyes at me, cocking her heavily painted left brow. “You’ll do anything to stop this wedding. Won’t you?”

DISCLAIMER:  No one may copy this blog for their own use. This belongs to Shelly Arkon.

Character Blog: Babs, Lila’s Mother

Schwoo…glad that daughter of mine is on her way to her honeymoon with Max. Didn’t think I’d get her down the aisle today. I mean, the girl did everything to stall her own wedding. Throwing a tantrum in the bridal room at me over that Spanish boy. Howie was no help as usual. The man is stupid. He always coddles her every whim, even if it’s a crazy one. The girl has him wrapped around her little finger.

Not to mention, she didn’t even show any interest in getting her bridal gown or shoes. I had to do it. In fact, I had to plan the whole wedding. The girl paid no mind to any of it.

And, she’s a scene maker, too….making up stuff. She did her best to embarrass me in front of all my friends today. All two-hundred and fifty. Announcing loud enough that her dead grandmother stood by me during the ceremony. That old bat helped make my daughter certifiable. A delusional schizophrenic. (She shakes her head) Glad the old bat’s dead.

It was one thing after another today, from her burping and passing gas down the aisle to loosing Max’s wedding band at the altar. I know I taught her better. ( She puts her hands on her hips). Oh, and then she pulled the cake table down on Max. What a mess that was. The girl had me to tears.

I can’t tell you how relieved I am that somebody wanted to marry her. Thank God for Tupperware. It’s what brought them together. No haste was made by him, either. I like fast workers. Within the first month of dating, he asked for her hand. What could I say? Accept, yes.

Glad the ink is dry for her own good. The girl can’t do much right. Seeing and talking to dead people. Dreaming ridiculous symbolic dreams. .

All I want is what’s best for her. One day she’ll thank me.

After all, a mother does know best. 

I do believe I could see Meryl Streep playing Babs. But she must have a red pixie, wear lots of blue eye shadow, and heavy dark painted brows. Babs is known for her evil brow.

What do you think?