We Thought You Were Dead

So I am on the road, which means hotels and “continental” breakfasts.  (Aside:  exactly which continent serves this stuff?)

I was sitting at my table eating lukewarm oatmeal and reading the USA Today when I observed this exchange between Woman #1, probably in her late 70’s and woman #2 probably in her mid to late 50’s.  Woman #1 has the kind grandmotherly look down cold.  Woman #2 has the angry look – you know, angry clothes, angry face, angry hair…

Woman #1 is seated alone drinking a cup of coffee.  Woman #2 briskly approaches.

Woman #2:  “Where have you been?!”

Woman #1:  “I woke up early, so I came down stairs,  I got a little hungry.”

Woman #2:  “Well… Bo and I had no idea where you were.”

Woman #1:  (A nervous smile) “I’m sorry”

Woman #2:  Bo and I were knocking on you door for like 15 minutes.  I thought I’d have to plan a funeral today!”

Woman #1:  (No longer smiling) “Sorry.”

In strolls Bo – from the looks of him he is Woman #1’s son.  He is a troll like character – short, with arms too long and a gut that is accentuated my his decision to tuck his t-shirt snuggly into his shorts.  Bo has a pile of gooey pastries and a cup of coffee.

Woman #1 smiles brightly at Bo.  Bo doesn’t recognize her – acting as though he’s never seen this woman before in his life and proceeds to greedily wolf-down cinnamon buns.

Woman #2:  “Well in the future – I’d like to know where you are.  The last thing I need is an incident.”  And she is off for an angry cup of coffee.

Woman #1 stares quietly into space; looking beyond Bo; and perhaps reminiscing about happier times.

-cj cheetham

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