“It’s the same old stuff, you’d think there’d be news, but all we ever get is who’s vegetable patch was raided or how Mrs. Cornelius Fitch got the hives once again.”
I threw the paper down on the floor and prepared myself for a long, boring night, when someone knocked on the door.
“Now who could that be? No one I knew would be coming this late unless . . . !” Then Chester Bertie came to mind.
“Chester! He must be horny, good lord here I am in . . . “ I looked down and saw that I was wearing my Sponge Bob t-shirt and pink panties and thought if that didn’t make his little engine run, I don’t know what would. So I put on a smile and opened the door.
“Come on in . . . Willodean why are you here? Some blender got hungry again?” I ripped a snort but stopped short after seeing her appearance. She was dressed to the nine’s, which I thought was a bit unusual, but then again we’re talking about Willodean.
“I’m your worst nightmare come true.” She spoke all too monotone for my likes.
“Yeah, that you are, get in here before you let in the mosquitoes.”
She smiled blankly. “They suck blood too.”
I turned around and looked at her incredulously. “What the hell is wrong with you? Your period come early again, because if it had, I don’t have anymore pads to lend out to you.” I walked over to my couch and sat down. Willodean followed suit animatronic like. Odd.
“You have any old pads I could have then?” Drool was trickling out her sorry little mouth and I didn’t have any idea what she wanted with old, used pads for anyway. Ewww . . .
I was skeptical. “Really? What for? Or maybe I shouldn’t . . . “
“For the blood of course.” Drooling intensified.
“. . . have asked.” I eyed her up and down. Something was definitely wrong here.
“Willodean hunny?” I spoke very softly. “You want to tell me something?”
Before I could get another word out, she was on me like a monkey on a cupcake!
“God bless America, what the . . . “
Arms and legs became entangled as I fought to get her off me, but tonight she was like an Octopus. All arms that moved faster than I could keep up, I swear she had eight of them.
“Willodean, get off me you here! I am not your dessert to be had tonight!” I was starting to struggle.
“Charlese you are my dessert, no, my cup of tea. I need your blood.” And fought harder.
Cup of tea, what is this, Anne Rice gone Southern?
Now on my back, still on the couch, I did a Three Stooges maneuver and poked her eyes with my fingers. That was enough lee-way for me to run to my kitchen and grab my butcher knife. Sure enough, she came at me again, and fast too.
“You stop right there Missy, I don’t know who are you, but you’re not Willodean that’s for sure!” I held my knife smack dab in front of me, hand shaking to beat the band when she said . . .
“I am not Willodean, I’m Villodame.” Slight accent on the d.
Right there and then I wanted to laugh out loud, but damn if she wasn’t serious.
“No, not Villo-dame, Villodame, accent on the d if you will.”
“I see, well, Villodame, I want you out, ‘cause your dessert has come up short and there’s none left.”
A sad, but pouty look came across her face and I could swear I thought I saw tears.
“None─left? Really?” Sniffling.
Yeah, I’m really sorry, but the dessert truck just left down the road.” I pointed toward my street . . . she looked and quicker than a bunny she was gone.
I never saw myself move as fast as I did when I locked the doors and windows, after which I plopped myself down on the rocker.
“Must be a full moon or something tonight or maybe it was dinner that didn’t agree with me . . . got to be that.” I agreed rocking back and forth peacefully.
Then, another knock came.
“Damn, not again!” I looked at the clock, “Two in the morning, sweet Jesus!”
Cautiously I spoke, “Who is it?” My heart was began to beat fast again.
“It’s me Charlese, Chester Bertie, can I come in?”
I thought about it for a minute, looked through my peep-hole . . . yeah, it was him alright, smiling from ear to ear and I was dressed perfectly for him, although rumpled in spirit somewhat.
I unlocked the door, ran to my couch and got all sexy looking on it and called out.
“Come on in you lucky boy you!”
Bam! On the floor with Willo . . . I mean, Villodame sucking my neck!
Is this the end of Charlese as we know it? Tune in next time when things go wonky in Dry Prong.