Funny Short Stories
Skyelights - part 2
If you missed the beginning; it's here part 1
'You'll never get a respectable man, looking like that,' Mrs. Rich complained as she entered Skye's room without knocking.
'There's always an up-side,' mumbled Skye. 'Well, number 1,' she yelled, 'I never said I wanted to get, i.e. possess, a man, bespectacled or otherwise; and number 2, what you really mean is, I'll have to change my dress to land someone obscenely rich that I can milk for dollars using 'feminine wiles'; i.e. prostitution.' Skye looked her mother up and down, arched an eyebrow and shrugged. 'Any other 'respectable' advice mummy?'
Mrs. Rich left the room and slammed the door. The door hinges, dampers and latch were so well engineered that it hardly made a sound, and she was so bloody furious that she resolved to complain to the management of the hotel.
Mr. Rich entered, after knocking and waiting, ready to duck.
'Look, just humor your mother, will you? You'll be going away to college soon, then you can do what you like.'
Skye shrugged, 'Sure.'
Dressed to kill, she thought, looking in the full-length mirror. It only took the slightest effort and she could practically fool herself. The beaming smile like a capital D that's rolled over onto its belly. A few inches of bare tanned shoulder, perfectly matching eyebrows - exact mirror images of each other. Full set of teeth; she snarled to prove it. Hostess persona, indeed.
I can maintain this salesperson expression for minutes at a time, she thought. And it only takes this slightest raising of one eyebrow and this bulging of the eyes to make me look completely insane. This should be fun!
I'll use the variant expression on every fifth person (and all young rich males, of course) and make a point of dancing with grandma and her pals ...
♣
Skye's mum made every conceivable effort to waylay her daughter once she realised what was going on, but Skye was far too busy to be caught without making a scene.
'She's a cow!' Mrs. Rich muttered to her aunt.
'She's wonderful!' declared the aunt, who hadn't had such fun for a long time, and had only experienced hostess mode.
Eligible young men from all four corners of the apparently spherical globe attempted to secure a dance with her, but they hadn't a chance. Eventually they decided she was lesbian, bonkers or both, and declared their complete lack of interest, volubly, for an hour or two.
'And what about her bizarre attachment to grannies?' asked a tall young Chinese man. He sported a Prince Harry clone hairstyle and suit, a smart tie and was currently mid way through a master's degree in business studies at Harvard.
'Seems like latent necrophilia to me,' commented a tall young Brazilian man. He was presently half way through an exchange studentship to Harvard where he was doing business studies. He wore a Prince Harry clone suit with compatible hairstyle and a very smart tie.
'You mean necrophilium,' interjected a tall young Indian man in a Prince Harry clone suit and appropriate hair. He'd once done a semester on biology, or read the list of contents displayed on the pot of yogurt he favoured for breakfast. He sported a very smart tie which he'd been given by his business studies (MSc) tutor at Harvard.
'Isn't that a constituent of yogurt?' he added.
'No. that's acidophilus you're thinking of,' said a young Portuguese who was half way through his business studies degree. His suit and hairstyle were very similar to the Brazilian's. He studied at Harvard. 'Acidophilus lacticus, probably,' he added. He checked his tie in the mirror behind the barman, easily able to see over the heads of the comparative midgets cluttered around the bar.
'No. you're both wrong,' drawled a Texan. 'Acidophilus was a Greek philosopher - the inventor of Disputation by Sarcasm.' His suit and hairstyle were modelled on the latest news photo of a young British monarch, but his tie was half undone on account of the humidity. The Texan was young and above average height. He studied Business Law at Yale.
'He always was a contrary cuss,' complained his dad to Skye's father.
You think you've got problems, thought Mr. Rich.
One of the many benefits of executing her high-energy plan was that Skye went to bed (late) totally exhausted and was therefore anticipating a very deep sleep. Aggravation from mother could be forgotten until the morning.
'I could do with a break from the weird dreams, too,' she said. And in fact she didn't dream until it was time to get up.
♣
A sea of mercury washes my feet, a serpent emerges and a skylight appears in my bedroom ceiling. The serpent has wings.
'Cheese for supper,' complained Skye, rubbing her weary head.
♣
Certain in the knowledge that the dream meant nothing, Skye got dressed, exactly as usual. She went downstairs for breakfast, as usual, and chose exactly the same food and drink as she did every day. Then she informed her parents of her intention to stay in the UK - Wherewithal, in fact - to do some voluntary work. She licked her lips, wondering how they'd suddenly acquired a life of their own; likewise her vocal cords.
For once, her mother was rendered speechless.
'Er, right. Why?' asked her dad.
'To help me decide what to major in,' Skye's vocal apparatus replied, apparently without consulting her conscious mind.
♣
'This flat will do,' agreed Skye.
'Excellent madam! I couldn't help noticing the American accent. Is there a story behind that?' asked the managing director / teaboy of Piranha & Frenzi, Estate Agents (established 2006).
'Yes. There's two.'
'Ah! What are they?' smarmed the salesdude.
'No.1 Personal; No.2 Private. So what's the address?'
'Number 11, Wit's End,' said the dude, deflating in mid-grovel.
'Top that!' said Skye. 'Synchronicity!'
Imagine, she thought, the texting possibilities to my pals:
'Come visit!'
'Where are you?'
'At my Wit's End!'
'Oh sweetest, what's wrong?'
'Absolutely nothing!'
The Wits End Community now have a blog!