1930.

*Mom ironing peaceflly by window.* *I tiptoe and sit on her bed.* ‘I’m a widow.’ I say.
Wait for it. Wait for it. There! She spins around leaving the iron to burn a hole through my dad’s shirt. ‘What?’ she demands. ‘I’m a widow!’ I sigh. ‘Really?’ she mocks sarcasticly, crossing her arms. ‘Yup. My crush died before I was even aware he existed.’ I sighed again eyeing the burning shirt. She rolls her eyes. ‘Whatever.’ she says turning back to examine the vehement vapor from the iron. I wait. Patiently. ‘And who, were you married to?’ I smirk, ‘Fred Astaaire, of course!’ Now it’s her turn to sigh while I go on and on about all the other proclaimed Mrs. Astaires out there. Really, it’s a wonder she doesn’t have gray hair.

2 thoughts on “1930.

  1. ALD1296 September 26, 2010 / 7:13 pm

    Muahahaha!! But wait…that's impossible, Freddy is mine 🙂

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s