Tag Archives: bet

1.53 Who Are You Wearing?

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(My tricorn at sunset…)

Me: “You cannot be serious.”

Wood: “You lost the bet – thus you must wear a costume of my choosing.”

Beatrice and Laney both were staring at the pirate costume Wood held up for inspection. As costumes go, it was pretty nice – gold trimmed tricorne hat, leather bandolier, black velvet long coat – the whole shebang. I even owned a pair of black boots which wouldn’t look too bad with the entire ensemble. 

However, I don’t think this was the wisest sartorial choice for planting casket analogs (i.e., rubber ducks) to demonstrate to my common sense challenged former manager the folly of using the particular patch of ground he’d chosen for a pet cemetery.

Me (grasping at straws): “It is well past Halloween.”

Wood: “No time like the present to settle up on an old debt.”

Three guesses what Wood wanted to trick-or-treat as when we were ten years old.

And the first two don’t count. 

Apparently, I did not appreciate the level of loathing Wood still carried over his Labyrinth inspired Ludo costume he was required to wear the Halloween he lost the bet (I wore a facsimile of Sarah’s dress from the soap bubble scene). 

Wood (a sly smile sliding over his lips): “Or are you a welsher?”

Crap. He was serious. Pulling out the whole Guys and Dolls, Sky Masterson thing. He’d spread it all over town (i.e., my family) that I welshed on the bet if I didn’t wear the pirate costume. Then I would really NEVER hear the end of it.

Me (with an air of resignation): “Hand it over.”

Laney: “Wood, honey, that’s a little mean making her dress up.”

Wood (brightening up): “Don’t worry I got a costume for each of us!”

Laney: “Umm, what?”

Turns out the local university’s theater department, to raise money, rents old costumes out to alumni and they just happened to have four pirate costumes. 

Wood: “We can’t let Morticia have all the fun!” 

Not sure why Laney and Beatrice were shocked. Wood wants everyone to be as happy as he is, and having Fun is a great way to achieve this goal. And tonight he’d decided that a pirate theme would kill two birds with one stone. I smiled at Laney and Beatrice with a touch of mischief in my eye, misery does love company.

Outfits in hand we trooped back up to the Lavender Lady to don our costumes, and with the judicious use of safety pins, the clothes fit us reasonably well. Then Tricornies (wordplay on the tricorn hat and corny – though I suppose if I need to explain the funny, it’s not that funny…) decided they wanted a more authentic piratey look, so they raided Beatrice’s collection of curiosities for beads and baubles to complete their outfits. 

Thankfully “we” all agreed to leave the cutlasses and pistols at home figuring they’d get in the way of our digging. Though flasks of spiced rum were deemed a necessary accessory.

Because who ever heard of a pirate without rum? 

Who indeed. 

Since I lost the bet, Wood was thrilled to remind me, he designated me the Chief Escape Artist or in nonpiratey terms – the designated driver. Which worked for me as I suspected they’d already taken a tipple whilst we were wiggling into our costumes.

They confirmed this suspicion when we exited the Lavender Lady, at eleven thirty at night, and started belting out a cobbled together sea shanty:

“Two feet at sea and none on shore,

A Pirate’s life for me!

Our ships’ named the HMS Pompadour!

Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!

When we explore we always cause an uproar,

A Pirate’s life for me!

Now we are bound for Nevermore!

Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!”

I wonder what Ms. Hettie thought of the procession down her back walk.

1.52 Be Careful What You Tell Children

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Why did Wood unleash his wickedest smile upon unzipping a zipper?

Because he knew I wouldn’t welch on a bet.

Even though I really wanted to.

Back in the day (when we were both ten) I lived next to a gentleman named Sal. Sal towered above everyone in the neighborhood, being around 6’8”, it was pretty easy. One afternoon Wood asked him how he grew so tall. Looking over the fence, down into our wondering eyes, he explained.

He told us the Captain of the pirate ship he sailed on, when he was just a lad, needed a very tall matey. Since he was still growing, they decided to induce a growth spurt. So they hung him up by his ankles and the entire crew pulled and pulled on the rope tied to his hands until – just like a piece of taffy – he stretched out. 

Of course, we had to know everything about the pirate life, and he taught us everything he knew – from fancy knots to sea shanties right down to the secret handshake. 

To complete our education, Sal regaled us with stories about his time at sea, why he had to walk the plank, the time he crossed swords with Black Beard and how he escaped from Davy Jones’s Locker with the largest treasure chest any pirate had ever seen. When he opened said chest, he discovered precious gems, pearls, doubloons and a rather fine tiara. 

With his newfound fortune, Sal decided to retire from the pirate life, settle down and buy a house. He then confided to us, since we were now fellow pirates, that he’d buried the leftover treasure in his backyard – for safe keeping.

At about this point I started getting suspicious, Sal had the same look my Uncle got when he was pulling my leg. When I voiced my concern to Wood, he wouldn’t entertain a single suggestion of doubt. Things got heated – words were said – a bet was made – we shook hands – and digging commenced. 

Because unearthing Sal’s treasure was the only way to settle our argument. 

When Sal disclosed his secret to us, he’d definitely pointed to the left corner of his lawn right next to the birdbath. So we started digging there with wild abandon, we might have been a bit thin on muscle, but we made up for it with enthusiasm. We also decided that archeological methods weren’t necessary since Sal had already disturbed the stratigraphy when he’d initially buried the chest. Which meant things went pretty quick.

Two hours, sixteen inches and one blister later Sal loomed over us.

He was not amused.

Instead of using the back gate between the houses, he marched us all the way around to the front so the entire neighborhood could witness our walk of shame. When we reached my front door, he loudly recounted our shenanigans to Aunt Pearl. During Sal’s booming damnation we stood silently, staring at our shoes, wishing the earth would swallow us whole. 

Then my Aunt asked (as Sal had not) why we dug up his lawn. We haltingly told her about Sal’s stories, the preceding kerfuffle, and the bet. Then we waited for the other shoe to drop.

To our surprise, Aunt Pearl laughed and asked (I’ll never forget this), “Well what did you expect would happen when you told them where to find buried treasure?”. She offered to send us back to fill in the hole, but Sal firmly rebuffed the offer in the face of his own folly. Instead of grounding us (as expected), Aunt Pearl ushered us into the kitchen, gave us a cookie, then sat us down and explained what trespassing and vandalism meant.

I’m starting to think we paid more attention to the cookie.

Fast forward twenty-six years to a recent Sunday Dinner (Wood and I adopted each other at a young age, Aunt Pearl rolls with it).

Aunt Pearl (placing a slice of roast beef on my Uncle’s plate and addressing the table): “Remember when you two were convinced Sal was a pirate and did a number to his lawn?”

Me (rolling my eyes): “I’m not sure we’ll ever live it down.”

Aunt Pearl (ignoring my snark): “Turns out Dourwood was right, he was a pirate, of sorts.”

Dourwood (eyeing me): “OOOHHH RRReeeeaaallllllllllyyyyyy…..”

Aunt Pearl (trying to keep a straight face while stirring the pot): “Yes. He was grousing to your Uncle earlier in the week about how expensive cable is now…”

Dourwood practically bounced out of his seat waiting for Aunt Pearl to say the magic words….

Aunt Pearl (trying hard to ignore his glee): “…since everything went digital he can’t just pirate the signal like he used to…”

Dourwood (pointing at me across the table narrowly avoiding knocking over his glass): “HE WAS A PIRATE!” 

Me (laughing with everyone): “Technicality.” 

Dourwood (shaking his fists in the air in vindication): “If he pirated something that means he’s…..”

Me: “A cheapskate?”

Wood: “No.”

Me: “Handy with tools?”

Wood: “This is so easy it is binary, either you are or are not a pirate. Since he engaged in pirating activities…..”

Me (turning to Aunt Pearl): “Are you so tired of reminding us about our disastrous dig that you needed to outsource it? Wood will never let this go now.”

Aunt Pearl (when she finally got enough breath back from laughing): “No dear, it just struck me funny.”

Dourwood: “You just don’t want to admit Sal’s a pirate and you lost the bet!”

Me: “I did not! Pirating cable is just an expression, not a vocation!”

It went back and forth like this all through dinner, dessert, and bridge until with very little grace I capitulated to Wood’s argument. 

Should have know that wouldn’t be the end of it.

1.30 Takeaway

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(Teriyaki Salmon, Miso and California Rolls were the first items we unpacked! So Good!)

Recalling my initial reaction to Sunny Valley Farm, I decided to wait until I got home before calling Sarah. Crashing the Princess due to distracted driving (i.e., Little Ben drives me to distraction) wouldn’t fit within my budgetary constraints at the moment. So I opted to sit on the garden wall in the Lavender Lady’s back garden and watch the squirrels and birds fight over acorns while I dialed her number.

Waiting for Sarah answer, I took stock of all the good things surrounding me – my toes felt warm and cozy in my wool socks, my crochet scarf kept the brisk air off my neck, and a handful of cookies kept my tummy full on this fine fall day. Sarah picked up on the fourth ring.

Sarah (chirping): “Hey mom! I can’t talk right now. I’m at work. Mind if I stop by for dinner tonight?”

Me: “Little Ben’s right there?”

Sarah (still chirpy): “Yup! So dinner?”

Me: “Seven sound good?”

Sarah (still channeling her inner cheerleader): “Great! See you then! Love you!”

Click.

Little Ben must have been standing right next to her. 

Which isn’t as creepy as it sounds, Sarah Armstrong is Nevermore’s Chief Funeral Director (she prefers the title mortician, but Big Ben won’t let her change it). Who often works within close proximity of Little Ben. I texted Beatrice and added an extra entree to the Chinese takeout order for this evening.  Then thought about it and added three more and a side of hom bow to my request. 

Fortunately, my earlier tasks ate up enough of the day that seven pm rolled around rather quickly. Three hours flew by while I disassembled Laundry Island, made my bed and participated in a lengthy discussion Harold S. Ellington (Beatrice’s skeleton) about my current inquiry while dusting the front room (nope not stalling at all).

At a quarter of seven, Beatrice rolled thru the front door juggling two large boxes filled with takeout containers plus her bag and briefcase. Relieving her of the boxes, I breathed in the wonderfully spicey smells of General Tso’s Chicken and Mongolian Beef. Setting the boxes down on the entryway table I perused the selections, egg rolls, yakisoba, all kinds of veggies covered in multiple sauces (I love sauce) and a variety of rice dishes. At this point, my stomach realized the pancakes and cookies left the building hours ago and threatened to attack the takeout boxes directly, Alien-style.

Beatrice (a bit out of breath): “So, why did I buy enough food to feed a small army?”

Me (wishing I could filch an egg roll): “I might have invited one?”

Beatrice: “That’s a good reason. Why?”

Me: “To help move my table and stuff into the garden shed.”

Beatrice (smiled and arched her eyebrow): “Nothing to do with not wanting to go by yourself?”

Me: “Nope.”

And with timing only Dourwood can muster, he knocked, saving my bacon from Beatrice’s follow-up funny.

Wood: “Bee! Morticia! How are the new housemates doing? Hmm…do I smell Chinese?”

Me: “Sure do. Sushi too! And you’ll get some right after you help me move some stuff into storage.”

Wood: “Morticia, I would love to, but I’m not dressed for it. My suit….”

Me (crossing my arms over my chest, trying to look stern):”…Is perfectly fine. And after you help me move my boxes, we’ll eat the takeout in the shed. Where you can pay Beatrice the ten bucks, you owe her.”

Wood (laughing, looking between Beatrice and I): “Ahh, you told her about the bet? Thick as thieves already! I knew you guys would be great together! Let me grab my sneakers out of the car and roll up my sleeves. That food smells terrific by the way, had an emergency ear infection come in, so I missed lunch.”

He gave me a quick squeeze then darted back outside again. 

Beatrice (shaking her head and laughing): “Can I change? Or should my penance extend to trying to bend and lift while wearing a pencil skirt?” 

Me (smiling): “No, go change. You bought food, that was our deal.”

Sarah walked in with Wood who’d retrieved his sneakers. Things moved quickly with three people (Sarah only carried the food down, wasn’t fair to rope her into Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum’s atonement), everyone laughed when I recounted (with Wood providing sound effects) why I disliked garden sheds. My 50’s style Formica and aluminum kitchen table fit perfectly into the middle of the shed – providing a flat and stable surface for both eating and map reading. 

Fortunately for Wood and I, tonight the former came before the latter.