Thursday, September 5, 2013

Val Entertains Two Guests

I am entertaining tonight. No, I'm not just saying that so you'll read this in hopes of actually being entertained for once. I mean entertaining. As in hosting guests. It's not a raucous party. Those days are over. Though I will admit that Val has tickled quite few funny bones in her day.

My guests are resting on the couch, propped up on pillows, taking in the ambiance that is Val's humble abode. They don't talk much, these guests. Not talk show material. And they need a bit of powder to cut down the shine on their countenances. They're quite laid-back. Content to share the spotlight. They've not asked for food or drink. I'm not sure what Hick thinks of them. I left them upstairs alone with him briefly. I can imagine the interaction. Hick flopped back in his recliner, staring silently at them. They staring back at him.

The Pony and I picked up our guests down at the end of the gravel road, at the mailboxes. It's really hard to give directions right to our front door. Traffic virtually stopped while we gathered them into T-Hoe. They shared the second seat next to The Pony, since my purse, bubba cup, and school bag were taking up space on the shotgun seat. I recognized them the minute I saw them, even though they were traveling incognito. The Pony was quite gracious, bearing them across the blacktop to the car. I kind of felt bad that my guests had been waiting so long. Since noon, probably, when their ride from town dropped them off.

We won't really get to know each other until the weekend. I can't wait to see what they have to say. Oh. Allow me to introduce you to my guests:

Please excuse my guests for their lack of focus. I am not a portrait photographer. On the left is Not Your Mother's Book...on Being a Parent. And on the right, Not Your Mother's Book...on Home Improvement. Oh, pardon me. You might not recognize my writing. There is no Val in real life. My stories are: "Cheese Cutting," on page 48 of NYMB...on Being a Parent. And "Plier-Lamping 101" on page 58 of NYMB...on Home Improvement.

If you should choose to welcome my guests into your home, I promise they will be entertaining.


  1. "Cheese Cutting"? What an intriguing title.

    Congratulations on hosting such fine guests. Hopefully neither of THEM are cutting the cheese right now...

    (By the way, my invitation to your book signing must have gotten lost in the mail. Please let me know the date so I can pencil it in on my calendar.)

  2. A clever way to announce the arrival of your new books. No wonder you're now a published author. Congratulations, and sorry if in my ignorance I didn't know you've been published before.

  3. I have a pair of vise grips if you want to...oh nevermind, it sounds like Hick is behaving these days. Laughed out loud at that home improvement story. And well, the cheese know I had first dibs, but they gave that stinker away.

  4. Congrats on your house guests! You must be so excited.


  5. What does your Mother think about your publications?

  6. Sioux,
    Into each life some cheese must be cut. My guests are a class act. In a class by themselves. Hmm...maybe there's a reason for that isolation.

    Your invitation must have fallen through a tiny archway along the baseboard at the dead-mouse-smelling post office. By now, it is shredded and harboring tiny pink hairless rodents. So there shall be no penciling. Don't think I'm not onto your tricks, Madam. Pencil is erasable. If you had mentioned carving it hieroglyphically into stone, I might have fallen for your Carrie-esque set-up. I shall not have a bucket of pig blood fall upon my dirtypillows at the book-signing you trick me into attending.

    Well, the whole handing-out-cigars thing has been done. And I stopped short of mailing out just-born announcements. Thank you for the congrats, and revel in your ignorance. It IS my first. And second. I'm currently readying a spot over the mantel for my Pulitzer and Nobel.

    I'm pretty sure those vice grips used for my intended purpose are considered illegal, even here in Missouri. That home improvement story is not my favorite. cheese cutting darling, spirited away from under your salt-spray-sniffing nose. I scream, you scream, we all scream for cutting cheese. Yet my other keyboard offspring are shoved from a moving vehicle onto the cold wet road shoulder, to huddle together under a salvaged black bumpershoot with one exposed rib waiting to put out the window to someone's soul.

    Yes, with writing like that last sentence, it's hard to believe I am not in high demand.

    Thank you. You win the Most Creative Congrats award. It looks like an old-fashioned baby bracelet. Those old-fashioned babies must have been too smart to choke on beads.

    My mother has put in an order for three of each. Not for herself, mind you. For gifts. I'm not exactly Hall Monitor material, but she is still proud of me.