Fluffy Slipppers

 

A short excerpt of my 5th story concerns a mother-in-law and mother, who has come to stay for a few days.  She loves to attend happy hour at  her Sydney retirement home and her favourite drink is sherry.

Caught late one night in the nude after sinking a bottle of sherry, she was performing a break dance in the lounge, and yelling whoopee ever time she fell over.

Fluffy Slippers

 

 

 

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 Behind a low white picket fence at number 21 Coventry Drive, clusters of Iceland Poppies stirred in the gentle afternoon breeze.

A red taxi pulled into the kerb.  The driver, a small man with an olive skin, a head of dark wispy hair and a pencil thin moustache, hurried to open the door for Gertrude, his elderly woman passenger. Tall and slim, not a strand of silver hair out of place, Gertrude wore a smart navy blue two-piece wool suit, with a pale silk scarf to match. 

The driver bowed slightly as she stepped out of the car.  Smiling, he offered his hand for support.  “Help you lady?” Swatting his hand away, she snatched her walking-stick from his grasp.  

Embarrassed by Gertrude’s rebuke, he hastily placed her small suitcase on the pavement.    

Haughtily, she tapped the suitcase with her cane and pointed toward the bungalow. 

 On opening a small picket gate, the driver politely requested his fare.  All he got for his trouble however, was a sniff and a toss of her head, as she swept by.

  For the last half hour, Frank Parson had been nervously waiting for his mother-in-law to arrive.        Stepping off the porch as her taxi pulled up at the gate, he met his mother-in-law as she made her way along the path. 

Holding his arms out wide, he welcomed his visitor.          “Good afternoon, Gertrude.  It’s lovely to see you again.”  Instead of embracing her son-in-law, Gertrude made a swishing movement with her cane. “Out of my way!” she ordered snootily.  The jut of her chin and the fire in her eyes, inferred she was in no mood for chit chat.

“Frank! . . . Put something on your feet.” She snapped.  

"Oh. . . And I love you too!”  Frank muttered, as his mother-in-law dashed past, leaving behind traces of a delightful perfume. 

The taxi driver, clutching his passenger’s small suitcase, scurried along the path in her wake. 

“Don’t tell me,” Frank said, shaking his head as the taxi-driver came to a halt. “She never paid you, did she?”

“No!  Sorry.  Can I trouble you for payment, sir?”

“Don’t be sorry.”  Frank said, pulling a roll of cash from his back pocket.

 “Perhaps we could do a deal here, mate.”  He said, thumbing through a wad of ten dollar notes. “I’ll pay you an extra fifty bucks, if you'll change places with me for the next couple of weeks?"

Even though the driver was glad to be recovering his fare, he hesitated.

“OK, eighty bucks then?” Frank smiled. 

With a quick glance toward the house, the cab driver muttered.  “Mister, I don’t think so.”