Stewart
Active Member
Just another to add.
Oh my, it is getting late. Usually ten o’ clock is when I put the cat out for the night, make myself a nice hot mug of coffee, and retire to bed to read another chapter of my book. But I mustn’t complain because, you see Mr. Decker, it isn’t very often that I get company. Since my children flew the nest I’ve been pretty much a lonely old woman with enough friends to be counted on one hand.
And look at my hand, all veined and wrinkled, the punishment for a life-time of keeping a tidy house. Sometimes I find it hard to grip even the simplest things - my mug, my book. Ah, but you know I still overcome my disabilities, though sometimes I wonder if you hear a single word that I say. It’s as if you come round here to listen to me out of some cursed duty. Or out of pity.
Ha ha! Listen to me, rattling off my tongue again. You know, I don’t blame you if it is pity because what am I but a woman with nothing but her book and her cat to keep her living one more day?
But, cough cough, enough of my self pity. It’s all a woman like me can do these days, you know. Pity herself. Pity herself for being alone, for her disabilities, for her humble existence.
Do you mind if I smoke? Of course you don’t. I ask you this every time you sit in that very chair. Well, maybe not sit, but slouch. I do hate it when you do that. It’s not proper. A young man like yourself should sit with a straight posture, a gentleman’s position. Sometimes when I see you sitting like that I wonder if you have fallen asleep listening to me, lending a kind ear to the feeble prattle of a senile old woman. But no, I see for myself through these rheumy old eyes of mine, that your young peepers are still strong. I don’t believe I’ve even seen you blink once. Maybe my old eyes just don’t catch everything they see.
So, how have you been? Fine? You don’t look fine. Your skin looks pale and shrivelled. Have you been eating? My eldest son, he went through that phase once. Would go days, he would, without touching so much as a crumb. My husband, God bless his soul, and I were worried sick that he would starve to death. Terry, that’s my husband, was a good old fashioned meat and two veg man. Stomach like an ox, he had. Ha ha! In those days I would spend hours preparing a decent roast and took satisfaction from watching the house scoff it until the plates were as clean as a whistle. Nowadays I content myself with a small bowl of soup and whatever’s in the fridge. It’s strange - cooking for one. So just help yourself to one of those biscuits. I don’t want to see you starve. They’re coffee creams, you know. Oh! I do like my coffee.
What about your sleeping? You don’t look as if you’ve had much of that either. I doubt those eyes of yours have closed since you last came round. You sat there much the same as you are now, always looking as if you were about to fall asleep but never daring to close your eyes. Lack of sleep is a bad thing. I always make sure that I get at least eight hours. Read it in a magazine, you see, everyone should get roughly that amount. It’s bad for your health not to sleep. And not to eat. Go on, I can see your tempted by my coffee creams.
And your smell. That’s not the way a young man should smell. How often do you wash? It’s good practice to wash, you know? Why, I make sure that I have a bath every morning. It cleans the dirt from your body, and makes you fresh. Yes, a man like you should smell fresh and not like some old tramp. If you were a few years younger I’d wash you myself. But you’re a grown man, you should be able to take care of that yourself.
These are nice coffee creams. Mmmm. I really am disappointed that you won’t even try one. You don’t drink coffee either. I’ve offered you milk, orange squash, and even a simple glass of water but you never accept. What do you drink? Beer? Ah! Beer. Well, I’m sorry Mr. Decker, I can’t offer you a beer. Since Terry died I haven’t kept that sort of thing in the house. No alcohol whatsoever. I am terribly sorry.
Would you look at the time. A quarter past ten. The cat gets ratty when she doesn’t get put out. Ah! Here she is now. Her name’s Samantha. Hello Sam. Do you want out? I thought so. Well, you’ll have to wait until Mr. Decker leaves. He’s a very nice man and it’s so rare that I get company.
I see she likes you. Look at the way she curls around your leg, sniffing the air. Why, Sam, don’t jump up on Mr. Decker like that. Here, let me take her from you. That’s a bad cat.
Oh! It’s no trouble Mr. Decker. You don’t have to go on the cat’s account. She can wait to be put out. All she does is wail in the company of the other neighbourhood cats. Wails to get out, wails to get in. I swear, I don’t know why they bother wanting out at all.
You were like this the first time we met, Mr. Decker. In a hurry to go, I mean. I remember opening the door and there you were with your lovely leather briefcase and that impish smile of yours. Why don’t you smile like that anymore?
I think I’ll have another coffee cream. You really must try them someday.
Anyway, I was saying, you were standing on my doorstep asking me if I wanted to donate to that charity of yours. What was it again? Cancer something? Cancer Research? Yes that’s it. Cancer Research. And I remember saying that I’d love to give some money for a good cause like that. I invited you in for a cup of tea because you wouldn’t drink coffee and you were telling me all of the lovely things that my money could do to help those in need.
Of course, the tea wasn’t to your liking. I don’t make the stuff often, you see. I’m a coffee drinker but you know that. And with just one sip you were holding your throat as if someone were trying to strangle you. Ha ha! Such a reaction…
Oh! You really must be going. Well, okay. I suppose a young man like yourself has got better things to do than talk to an old biddy like me. Okay, let me show you to the door.
My, you are getting heavy Mr. Decker. For someone who isn’t eating, not even a coffee cream, you sure are putting on the weight. Hold on for a second while I turn the handle. There we go, just drag you round here and there you are. Free once more.
I do hope that you’ll come again. It get so lonely watching television day in and day out. I do enjoy a nice chat every now and again. It lets me know the outside world hasn’t forgotten about me.
Okay, goodbye Mr. Decker. Nice seeing you. Ta ta!
Heavens, Sam. Twenty past ten. Come on and I’ll let you out. Just undo the latch and turn the key. An old woman like me has to be careful these days, Sam. You never know who is knocking at your door.
Entertaining Mister Decker
Oh my, it is getting late. Usually ten o’ clock is when I put the cat out for the night, make myself a nice hot mug of coffee, and retire to bed to read another chapter of my book. But I mustn’t complain because, you see Mr. Decker, it isn’t very often that I get company. Since my children flew the nest I’ve been pretty much a lonely old woman with enough friends to be counted on one hand.
And look at my hand, all veined and wrinkled, the punishment for a life-time of keeping a tidy house. Sometimes I find it hard to grip even the simplest things - my mug, my book. Ah, but you know I still overcome my disabilities, though sometimes I wonder if you hear a single word that I say. It’s as if you come round here to listen to me out of some cursed duty. Or out of pity.
Ha ha! Listen to me, rattling off my tongue again. You know, I don’t blame you if it is pity because what am I but a woman with nothing but her book and her cat to keep her living one more day?
But, cough cough, enough of my self pity. It’s all a woman like me can do these days, you know. Pity herself. Pity herself for being alone, for her disabilities, for her humble existence.
Do you mind if I smoke? Of course you don’t. I ask you this every time you sit in that very chair. Well, maybe not sit, but slouch. I do hate it when you do that. It’s not proper. A young man like yourself should sit with a straight posture, a gentleman’s position. Sometimes when I see you sitting like that I wonder if you have fallen asleep listening to me, lending a kind ear to the feeble prattle of a senile old woman. But no, I see for myself through these rheumy old eyes of mine, that your young peepers are still strong. I don’t believe I’ve even seen you blink once. Maybe my old eyes just don’t catch everything they see.
So, how have you been? Fine? You don’t look fine. Your skin looks pale and shrivelled. Have you been eating? My eldest son, he went through that phase once. Would go days, he would, without touching so much as a crumb. My husband, God bless his soul, and I were worried sick that he would starve to death. Terry, that’s my husband, was a good old fashioned meat and two veg man. Stomach like an ox, he had. Ha ha! In those days I would spend hours preparing a decent roast and took satisfaction from watching the house scoff it until the plates were as clean as a whistle. Nowadays I content myself with a small bowl of soup and whatever’s in the fridge. It’s strange - cooking for one. So just help yourself to one of those biscuits. I don’t want to see you starve. They’re coffee creams, you know. Oh! I do like my coffee.
What about your sleeping? You don’t look as if you’ve had much of that either. I doubt those eyes of yours have closed since you last came round. You sat there much the same as you are now, always looking as if you were about to fall asleep but never daring to close your eyes. Lack of sleep is a bad thing. I always make sure that I get at least eight hours. Read it in a magazine, you see, everyone should get roughly that amount. It’s bad for your health not to sleep. And not to eat. Go on, I can see your tempted by my coffee creams.
And your smell. That’s not the way a young man should smell. How often do you wash? It’s good practice to wash, you know? Why, I make sure that I have a bath every morning. It cleans the dirt from your body, and makes you fresh. Yes, a man like you should smell fresh and not like some old tramp. If you were a few years younger I’d wash you myself. But you’re a grown man, you should be able to take care of that yourself.
These are nice coffee creams. Mmmm. I really am disappointed that you won’t even try one. You don’t drink coffee either. I’ve offered you milk, orange squash, and even a simple glass of water but you never accept. What do you drink? Beer? Ah! Beer. Well, I’m sorry Mr. Decker, I can’t offer you a beer. Since Terry died I haven’t kept that sort of thing in the house. No alcohol whatsoever. I am terribly sorry.
Would you look at the time. A quarter past ten. The cat gets ratty when she doesn’t get put out. Ah! Here she is now. Her name’s Samantha. Hello Sam. Do you want out? I thought so. Well, you’ll have to wait until Mr. Decker leaves. He’s a very nice man and it’s so rare that I get company.
I see she likes you. Look at the way she curls around your leg, sniffing the air. Why, Sam, don’t jump up on Mr. Decker like that. Here, let me take her from you. That’s a bad cat.
Oh! It’s no trouble Mr. Decker. You don’t have to go on the cat’s account. She can wait to be put out. All she does is wail in the company of the other neighbourhood cats. Wails to get out, wails to get in. I swear, I don’t know why they bother wanting out at all.
You were like this the first time we met, Mr. Decker. In a hurry to go, I mean. I remember opening the door and there you were with your lovely leather briefcase and that impish smile of yours. Why don’t you smile like that anymore?
I think I’ll have another coffee cream. You really must try them someday.
Anyway, I was saying, you were standing on my doorstep asking me if I wanted to donate to that charity of yours. What was it again? Cancer something? Cancer Research? Yes that’s it. Cancer Research. And I remember saying that I’d love to give some money for a good cause like that. I invited you in for a cup of tea because you wouldn’t drink coffee and you were telling me all of the lovely things that my money could do to help those in need.
Of course, the tea wasn’t to your liking. I don’t make the stuff often, you see. I’m a coffee drinker but you know that. And with just one sip you were holding your throat as if someone were trying to strangle you. Ha ha! Such a reaction…
Oh! You really must be going. Well, okay. I suppose a young man like yourself has got better things to do than talk to an old biddy like me. Okay, let me show you to the door.
My, you are getting heavy Mr. Decker. For someone who isn’t eating, not even a coffee cream, you sure are putting on the weight. Hold on for a second while I turn the handle. There we go, just drag you round here and there you are. Free once more.
I do hope that you’ll come again. It get so lonely watching television day in and day out. I do enjoy a nice chat every now and again. It lets me know the outside world hasn’t forgotten about me.
Okay, goodbye Mr. Decker. Nice seeing you. Ta ta!
Heavens, Sam. Twenty past ten. Come on and I’ll let you out. Just undo the latch and turn the key. An old woman like me has to be careful these days, Sam. You never know who is knocking at your door.
