Ladies Who Lunch
Her screams were piercing. Her cry echoed through the neighborhood. The screams were in harmony with the objects being plummeting against the wall, windows and floors. Her rage is powerful. One scream sends shivers down my spine. I find myself holding my breath. I walk toward her door. Why do I have to do this? I don’t have to. I could trust my instinct and run for the front door. I am afraid.
I gently exhaled and walked down the long hallway. I approached the door, “Bang,” something thundered against the door. I said a quick prayer. My thoughts raced. Do I go right in? Or Should I try speaking to her through the door? If I go right in she will scream in my ear and probably pelt me with something. If I gently try speaking to her through the door she will just scream even louder. Oh what the neighbors must think!
Here I am debating my choices. What does my gut tell me? Women are supposed to trust their gut instincts. I should just go in. Oh Lord please help me. What is that saying…about facing our fears?
I grasp the door handle, here goes nothing…a soft object hits me right in the face. Well at least it was soft. She screams with all her might, tears streaming down her cheeks. The room looks like a tornado whipped through it.
“I know you are upset, because I boxed up your summer clothes. You can’t wear shorts and flip flops when it is 9 degrees outside and snowing. I have lunch ready. When you calm down I would like you to join me.”
I closed the door quickly. I exhaled. I hope that speech sounded okay. I went into the kitchen with a heavy heart. I started separating the food onto plates. Then I saw the chair at the breakfast bar move. She was here. It worked. I quickly thanked God. I turned around to see her eyes red and swollen. She chose her pretty purple sweats. Her pigtails were now crooked. Oh well it is rather fitting.
To think I had a job in public communications and my most terrifying client is a three year old.
Written by: Collette Cottingham; Boot Hill