The Dinner Bell

Evelyn just always had a twinkle in her ocean-blue peepers and she had many other uncanny abilities, like the way she could smile with utilizing the least amount of muscles to achieve such, a gimmick she taught herself by practicing in the mirror night after night right before she would give her terrific tresses exactly two-hundred strokes with her gentle-bristled Victoria hairbrush, a loyal ritual that she was committed to six days a week, on Wednesdays it was time for curlers a discipline she never shirked upon.  Evelyn did so enjoy her ablutions while most people found personal maintenance an absolute bore and chore, Evelyn thought it was the highest point of her days; not that she minded making certain that lunches and dinners were on the table at noon and five-o-clocks, how could she argue this regiment - that was the time that made everybody happy after all, and making everybody happy was what Evelyn's mama and Evelyn's mama's mama prided themselves on doing. And Evelyn, she did feel honor-bound to keeping with this fine familial tradition.

But this Friday night something unexpected did indeed occur, it was 5:08 and dinner hadn't arrived on the table at the Wiedermacher's house. Hank and little Victor tried their best to be patient, but when the long-hand on the clock was now approaching the II , Hank knew it was his responsibility to inquire as to what was belaboring Mrs. Wiedermacher on this fine early-evening in the month of May. Hank tried to open the door but the kitchen was cordoned off for Evelyn propped two chairs from the bar against the door to deny entry to her scullery, it wasn't uncommon for her to forbid the family from peeking in her pots and pans either -  Hank exclaimed "what in good G-d is going on there honey?" Evelyn replied "Give me a moment dear, supper is on the way." And as promised in less than sixty seconds an all the trimmings turkey was proudly presented to Hank and little Victor. The question never would arise as to what the reason was why supper was on the table at 5:12 PM on May the 9th; the night Evelyn dropped the turkey, the first time she ever dropped the turkey and made the decision to quietly serve a meal that landed on her kitchen floor. She did use a little dish towel to reduce dust and debris from these fifteen pounds of poultry and she was really alright with that.  Maybe it would not be the last time the family would have a dinner fresh from the tiles. And so you have it -  Evelyn Wiedermacher, one of the earliest examples of food protocol - the 'five second rule.'

                               THE END

In Cars...

The What Girl

Today's What Girl, ever inquisitive, she hosts an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, when they tell her curiosity killed the cat, she just won't have it, and even still, she believes there are always eight more lives from where that one came from. The What Girl despite her come hither countenance, really does not take a shine to getting up to any such funny business, she's no phony baloney, she has one mission in life - and  that is to become the all-knowing. The ins and outs, the hows, why's and why nots. These creatures are a rare find and are likely to remain in their select indigenous habitats, but if you are ever fortunate enough to happen upon one, you will soon realize  you have stricken gold. Be sure to have plenty of answers at the ready, today's What Girl has an arsenal of queries to ready, aim and fire. She is by nature an existentialist and is never very far away from a Rousseau or Sartre book, she is silently collaborating all of the answers to her endless questions and hey who knows maybe a philosophy book written by the What Girl beckons, (but why ask why)?

Mucho Mucha

Four Seasons, no relation to Vivaldi

Primrose And Feather

Why Was Carlotta Crying?

Carlotta had been to soirées before, she was a mistress true of the fine art of hobnobbing and was often privy to various other worlds and could effortlessly sashay her graceful self into all types of circles. Everyone was under the assumption Carlotta was living the archetypal glamorous life; and that she was -  her stockings were always the silkiest,when others were eating cold spaghetti night after night in rationed times - she had steak three times a week, a half of a sixteen ounce porterhouse that she happily shared with her two-year old mastiff, Shep. Yet, there was always a little sorrow in Carlotta's eyes, perhaps a minuscule miracle that her  mascara always appeared ever so lush and would never leak not even on an August bus ride through the Sahara, although her peepers would go glassy some times. She cleverly attributed that to mere allergies, but truth be told,Carlotta could have worked double-shifts in a pepper factory without so much as letting out one little sneeze. No, there was some infinitely more profound reason as to why Carlotta was a bit on the lachrymose side and always, on the cusp of weeping.



You see Carlotta really took a size 8 in her Mary Janes, but she wouldn't be caught rigor-mortis in such a size, she shuddered to even think it, no Carlotta at all times had to be heeled in a size 5, there was just no pussyfooting around this for Carlotta. Carlotta read stories about the Far Eastern women who would bind their feet, yes Carlotta knew that was indeed extreme but maybe if she curled her toes just so and learned to walk on her tippy-toes, that would be alright. So, you see, it wasn't any pesky allergies afterall, or the heartache from one of the rogues in a line of rogues she had been devastated by - it was all those blisters, callouses and corns she suffered from those size five pumps, that she had to wear everywhere she went, even if it was just to fetch a carton of milk at the all night milk shop, Carlotta was one of the earliest examples of slaves to fashion and the moral of the story is - flared pants, all you need is a pair of flared pants, with the way that their inimitable hems are designed they can easily sequester the size of your feets, even if they are massive.

             THE END