Mother-in-Law

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Merv turned on her then, one hand clamping down on her bony shoulder, the other rooting itself in the thin hair on top of her head. Her endless carping turned into screams, beautiful screams as the muscles in his wrists and arms and back flexed; and when her head tore loose from her neck, it did so with a glorious meaty rending sound and a fierce spatter of hot blood.

"Well?" she added, in her finest buzzsaw screech -- the woman was old and frail, but still had a pair of lungs on her. Merv sighed inwardly as his fondest daydreams once more made way for reality. Not that Julia wasn't a hell of a woman, better than a man like him deserved, but goddamn, her mother...

"No ma'am, Mrs. Feldman," he replied -- seven years he and Julia had been married, but God forbid he refer to his mother-in-law by her good Christian name; nossir, that was one liberty that Mervin J. Kincade was not in a position to take. "I most definitely am going to do that first thing tomorrow -- just as soon as the boss comes back from vacation, y'see."

"Hmph," the old bat replied. She craned her neck forward, glaring up at him as though expecting to skewer him with just that look in her eye... that haughty you-never-deserved-my-daughter look that he didn't know how he had managed to put up with this long. That, in fact, he couldn't put up with anymore. And wouldn't. The force of his clenched hand smashing into her face was enough to slam her back against the wall; he pinned her there with the other hand, and kept punching, and punching, and punching. She wasn't giving him any look, now, not through the welter of blood that had previously been her face.

Merv blinked. "Are you even listening to me, Mervin?" she snapped, hands on hips, practically sneering at him. "You'd best get your act together, young man, or my Julia may just start realizing just what a mistake she made in marrying you -- "

"Yes ma'am," Merv interrupted, speaking quickly so he could maybe get out of this conversation before she could get on his case for that, too. "I'm real sorry, ma'am, but I promised I'd help Julia set up for dinner, and you know how I hate to disappoint her."

He hurried out of the room, though not quite quickly enough to avoid hearing her mutter something about how it was already too late for that.

The story about promising to help Julia was, of course, a lie; but she was pleased enough when he showed up to help carry things to the dining room table. They all managed to sit down and start eating with a minimum of snark... and then the smoke detector in the kitchen went off.

Julia jumped up from the table. "Oh, my pie!" she exclaimed, and rushed back through the kitchen door. They could hear her in there, pulling open the oven door and muttering over its contents.

A flicker of movement caught at the corner of Merv's eye, and he felt another of those stifled sighs coming on. Mrs. Feldman was taking in a deep breath, no doubt to fuel her latest nagfest at his expense. He started to turn toward her --

-- and froze.

She was choking.

The old bat hadn't bothered to actually finish chewing before starting in on him again, and now she was actually choking on something.

For a moment he sat there, listening to his wife's movements in the next room, and watching the weak struggles of his mother-in-law across the table.

Finally he rose from his chair, set his napkin down carefully beside his plate, and headed into the kitchen to see what he could do to help.



Are mothers-in-law really that shrill in real life? I realize that in the wacky wacky sitcoms and whatnot they are awful harridans that exist only to torment and humiliate their put-upon sons-in-law (assuming we're talking about the wife's mother, which is the case in the comic). But does that actually bear out in reality? I can't really speak from experience, seeing as I don't have a wife; but, I mean, people aren't nearly as simple as TV tends to make them out to be, so I'm thinking that this relationship is probably generally more nuanced.

Also: every character name in this one is lifted from a webcomic which, in its original incarnation, was one of my favorite Keenspot titles back in the early days of that particular collective. This is because I randomly decided to name the husband Merv and then found it amusing to go with the theme. A delicious ham sandwich to anyone who spots the ref! (Void in the state of Idaho.)

Thanks, Mom

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The old woman's eyes brightened, and she clasped her hands together. "Oh, how nice to see you! Why, it's been so long since you came to visit --" Then the smile slipped from her face. "You... are here to visit with me, aren't you, dear?"

The younger woman shrugged, not actually making eye contact. "Let's go on a trip, ma."

The old woman sagged. "Oh, Megan..."

"C'mon, ma, it'll be fun." The younger woman -- Megan -- reached into her purse and pulled something out. A roadmap and a magnifying glass. "You know how I hate tryin' ta navigate while I'm drivin'."

"Oh, but Megan." The old woman resettled her glasses on her face. "Why don't we have a nice evening here at the Home? They're serving meatloaf tonight, and -- and there's a new jigsaw puzzle I haven't done yet, and..." She trailed off, only looking at her daughter, who was still looking at nothing in particular. "Please, dear, it's been so long since we've visited together."

Megan rolled her eyes and glanced at her watch. "You done, ma?" She finally looked at the other woman long enough to shove the map into her hands. "Come on, I gotta be in Roca Escalante by nine or I lose my deposit." She looked around, nose wrinkling. "And I wanna get outta here. This place smells like a damn diaper."

"You did pick it for me, dear," the old woman murmured; but she was already being overruled, Megan's strong grip on her arm propelling her toward the door.

"Now let's get goin', huh ma? You get me where I'm goin', an' I'll drop ya back off on th' way back. Teamwork, right?"

"I suppose," the old woman answered quietly, beginning to actually follow her daughter instead of just being dragged along. "Although... I don't suppose we could at least eat something this time?"

Megan snorted. "Christ, ma, I'm not made of money."


Ordinarily I don't do the Sundays -- in fact, I think I never have before, ever -- but this one just spoke to me. Who says the mom actually wants to be in that car?

More And More

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"Oh lord," Prudence groaned.

Jill laughed delightedly as she held her prize aloft. "Ohhh yes, this little guy is a real gem... and won't Uncle Henry just love him?" She laughed again at the expression on her sister's face.

"That," Pru said deliberately, "is the ugliest lawn gnome in the long and ugly history of yard decór."

"Which is why Uncle Henry will love him."

"Ugh," Pru groaned again.

Jill set the gnome down on the table next to the box it had been packed in -- packed with rather a lot of care, Pru thought, seeing as it would've been a blessing to humanity if the thing had shattered in transit. Its chipped plaster hat and clothing were all the same delicate shade of puke-green, and the garishly painted face leered from behind sculpted tangles of beard. One hand was raised in what looked like a drunken salute. The other was behind the gnome's back, as though he was hiding something back there, even though if you turned him around you could see that the hand was empty. Not that Pru would touch him to turn him around; that expression of his looked a little too knowing for her.

"Doesn't he look just evil?" Jill asked, unconsciously echoing Prudence's thought. "Like a tiny little serial killer."

Now it was Pru's turn to laugh. "Well, when you put it that way, it makes it seem like such a lovely gift for Henry," she teased.

Jill grinned as she picked up the gnome and placed it back in the box. "He's got so damn many of these already, it's hard to keep from duplicating one of his old ones unless you really look for something strange. Thus, Chuckles the Deadly Lawn Ornament."

"He just keeps collecting more and more gnomes the last few years, doesn't he?" Prudence mused. "Why does he even need so many? I mean, most of them just sit in the garage and gather dust anyway."

"Last time I asked, he said he needed them close to 'keep an eye on them,'" Jill replied, one eyebrow cocked ironically. "I'd say our dear uncle was going loopy in his old age, except he's always been that way."

"Which is why you two get along so well," Pru grinned.



Sure, I already did this one, but if Brookins can recycle then so can I. It is up to you whether Uncle Henry is the same guy as in the earlier post! I could go either way.

Also, yes, I did get all the character names by listening to A Shoggoth On The Roof while I worked; why do you ask?

Hats

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The room smelled of sawdust and machine oil, of old sweat and the ghosts of a thousand fresh-mown lawns. Marie couldn't remember a time when it had ever been otherwise. She might have grown up, and grown away, and left home to live all the way across the country, but this had always been her father's space, all down the years and decades.

One full wall was taken up with his hat collection, hung from rows of pegs that went from her waist to well over her head. As a little girl she could spend hours in here with him, pointing to one hat after another, asking where did you get this one, when did you get it, tell me about it. Even then he had had an impressive collection. They were baseball caps, mostly -- promotional items from long-since-defunct farm-supply companies; souvenirs from places he had visited; gifts given him for dozens of birthdays and Christmases and Father's Days. Other dads got ties; hers got hats.

She pulled one down from the wall, turning it over in her hands and smiling a little. This had been one of his favorites, and even now the scent of sweat and Old Spice seemed to issue faintly from its worn fabric. He'd retired from the sawmill back in '86, after thirty-five years of working there and eight of actually running the place. This hat had been his parting gift from his former employees, more meaningful than any gold watch. "SAW BOSS", it read across the front. Their nickname for him at the mill. Marie smiled, remembering him describing it to her over the phone. He was usually so reserved, which made his excitement over the gift all the more touching.

Carefully Marie replaced the hat back on its peg, then looked around the room one more time, breathing in the air of the room where her father had spent so much of his free time over the years. Then she looked toward the doorway. "Yes, mama?"

Her mother attempted a smile. "Are you ready, dear? We have to leave pretty soon. Don't want to be late to the -- the funeral."

Marie crossed the room to give her mother a brief hug. Then she nodded. "I'm ready, mama. Just wanted to say goodbye."

Bionic

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"So you could call me the Six Million Dollar Woman," Lena quipped airily. The group erupted into cool laughter, and then drifted to the next topic of discussion. After a few more minutes, Lena excused herself -- some comment on how she really must see how everyone else was getting on, which was accepted easily enough -- and made her way back to the kitchen, exchanging insincere pleasantries with a few people as she went.

She let out a deep breath as soon as the kitchen door had closed behind her; none of the guests had seen fit to come in here, not when the caterers had such a nice spread out in the dining room. Of course, her aunt hadn't even looked at the catered food, and was currently cooking up a pot of something for her own lunch. Sudden wealth could change just about anyone in the world, probably, but it certainly could not change Aunt Margaret.

The older woman eyed Lena over the top of her glasses. "Tired of your new friends already, then?" Her voice was not unkind, but still her disapproval was evident.

Lena sighed. It was not the money that Aunt Margaret had a problem with, exactly. It was more the way that the money had led to this new house -- mansion, really, once the room count hit the double digits with no sign of stopping then it was time to upgrade the terminology -- this new mansion, and how it had seemingly come with a host of new "friends" already in place, like easily-bored furniture with a wicked taste for gossip. Lena had worked a bottom-of-the-totem-pole job with a major fashion magazine for years, and gotten nowhere with it. Since the settlement for her accident, though, it suddenly seemed that well-dressed people were coming from miles around just to drop by and hear her expert opinion on just what phrase was going to be the new "the new black".

None of them actually cared about her in the slightest, of course. But it was nice to pretend, at least for a few minutes before all the artificial smiles started getting to her.

"No," she said finally, answering her aunt's question. "Just tired in general." She sat heavily in one of the kitchen chairs, wincing as she did so. "It's hard to feel like the Six Million Dollar Woman when all my valuable bionic joints are so damned stiff."

Aunt Margaret turned back to her cooking. "Well, don't tell those bloodsucking corporate laywers that," she answered briskly. "They'd probably say that if you don't consider it enough compensation, then you might as well not have it at all."

Memory

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Tara put down the phone and sighed. "Good lord, I thought we'd never get that straightened out." She crossed something off the list in front of her, then looked up at the ceiling. "Let's see, I have to go down to Morgan County on Wednesday, and Sue needs me to take her to get groceries Thursday..."

Bernie glanced up at his wife from the shoe he was repairing. "Weren't you just in Morgan County yesterday?"

"Well, I had to take Grandma Lewis some things, and then there was the meat to pick up from ValueStop for mom. Only now, apparently Aaron has gotten himself in trouble -- something to do with some girl," she added, rolling her eyes, "and so Bob and Penny need someone to watch their other kids, and mom agreed to do it which means someone has to go with dad to the auction." She picked up her pen and made a brief note. "I also need to get my roaster back from Penny."

Bernie grunted. "Well, keep in mind, I've got to get up to my mom's to mow the grass sometime this week. I didn't get to it last weekend, and this weekend we've got that thing at my sister's church in Spencerville -- "

"Oh, shoot!" Tara snatched up the phone again. "That's right, I told Jason I could let him have the van this weekend, only we'll need it in Spencerville." As she began to dial, she sighed. "Honestly, the amount of things I have to remember with this family, I'm surprised my head hasn't just fallen right off."

"That's why I say we should just move to Florida," Bernie deadpanned as he returned to his work. "Let everyone else sort themselves out."

"Now, where would they be without me around to run their lives for them?" Tara replied.

Cologne

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"Dad!" Kari started to greet him with a hug, then pulled back suddenly, nose wrinkling. "Ugh, are you still using that same cologne? It makes you smell like a chemistry set!"

Ben shook his head in mock sorrow. "My only child and she couldn't even inherit my good taste..." Then, as they started making their way across the airport to the baggage claim, "And I still have four bottles of it left anyway. I tell you, twenty years ago my friends thought I was crazy for buying three cases at once, but I guess I'll have the last laugh, eh?"

"If only because everyone else has fled the stench," Kari replied, grinning. "Doesn't that stuff ever expire?"

"Don't think so." Ben waved her ahead of him onto the escalator, then stepped onto it behind her. "And even if it does, so what? I'm wearing it, not eating it."

Kari grinned again. "Worst-case scenario, when you've finally poisoned yourself to death, you'll already be embalmed."

"Oh!" Ben clutched his chest theatrically, eyes pointed skyward. "Thankless child, how you wound me so!" As they reached the baggage claim, he winked at her. "Just for that, you can take care of my suitcase for me."