The Gods are kind.
I am sitting at my favorite table, in my favorite Starbucks, during my favorite time of the morning.
And the door opens and in she walks.
Mrs Evil Couple.
The first thing I notice is that she is dressed nicely. Hair attractively styled. Makeup on.
This is a pretty woman that normally wears her hair in kind of a low rise blond afro. No makeup. Grey lifeless sweats and an xxl tshirt WITHOUT a bra.
Paints a picture, don’t it?
She is in line, waiting for her turn to order her soy latte, frowning slightly.
She turns and talks to the woman behind her.
I freeze in place as something in my head clicks into place. Holy shit!
This is the Momma that Mrs. Evil told her sister that they HAD to put her into a home, but “Not so close that I feel bad that I don’t visit that often.”
I pause a moment to observe and take it all in.
She is blocky in that old school Russian way. Hair is a combination of grey and blonde.
Poofy in that “hottie at the old folks home” look without the blue tinge.
She is also scowling. But you can tell that it is a natural expression for her.
There is an aura of displeasure that emanates from her.
This is a woman that is not happy about a lot of things.
She is dressed in a little old lady version of hot.
Your standard, Soviet issue black purse tucked under one arm in defense of muggers.
They order and move over by the pick up window.
As Mrs. Evil looks around, I can tell what she sees.
Not a seat around. Even the big table is full.
Had I known, I would have saved the table next to mine. There was a late 20, early 30’s suit with a weak chin reading the Wall Street Journal.
Mrs. Evil leans over and says something to Momma Evil.
No doubt suggesting they take a walk with their coffees.
I could shit myself with disappointment.
And the Mamma Evil looks around.
There is something in her eye.
She looks right at me and slides her eyes to the suit sitting next to me.
Her face hardens and she walks over.
Something is afoot, but what?
Mamma Evil’s voice is cultured and accented, and tinted with that type of arrogance that makes the “Excuse please” sound a lot like “Hey asshole”.
The suit is startled and lowers his paper.
I can’t be sure, but the slight stutter in his voice made her eyes widen like a wolf scenting blood.
“I have had my foot operated on, and it hurts, my daughter and I need to sit. You will move please?”
She pulls out one of the chairs.
“Thank you, you are very kind.” She drops her purse in the middle of the table with a loud thunk.
The suit never had a chance.
He was mumbling an apology for some reason as he walked out.
You could not get a pin up my ass with a jackhammer.
My God, I have missed this.
TO BE CONTINUED
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