Milady’s chair…….

Gee, that was fun.

I believe I have mentioned more than once that Heather, Skosh’s girlfriend, was a pathetic, messy, lonely little chirpster, totally devoid of style and not much in the personality department before she met Skosh and his friends and began to bloom under their loving tutelage.  The reason for this sad state of affairs was Heather’s treatment, or lack of it, at the wings of her mother, a stylish matron with a penchant for social-climbing, haute couture, and martini-heavy afternoon ‘teas’ with like-minded harridans, teas that customarily lasted well into the evening and sometimes longer.  on the rare occasion that Heather did receive any attention from her mother, it was almost always negative.  Heather had no sense of self-worth and had no idea that she would ever have even one friend, much less as many as she now has.

Heather spends most of her time at our home now, to the shared delight of both Heather and her alleged mother, who no longer has to explain to her cronies how it was that she came to be related to such a ‘terrible disappointment’ as her daughter.  However, at one point when we were planning a three day (possibly four if we felt the urge) trip to Dragoworld, Heather’s mother decided to do a little mothering and find out exactly who her daughter was hanging with and just exactly what a good for nothing bunch we obviously were and required my presence at her stately home for a ‘nice little chat’ as she put it, before she would allow Heather to accompany us. so.  off we went, heather bringing up the rear and I, wearing a faux Chanel suit and enough Shalimar to peel paint, bravely in the lead.

We wisely decided not to allow Skosh to tag along.

We were seen into the drawing room and the old family retainer announced our presence.  Within a short half hour, Mrs. Pinfeather made her appearance, swanning down the spiral staircase like a cross between Bette davis and a feather boa, and offered me a limp wing in greeting.  I opted not to kiss it and contented myself with a quick shake of the wingtip.  she bade us sit down, please, sit, rang for tea (uh oh) and glared at Heather’s new beak piercing with a ladylike shudder.  when the tea service arrived we were offered a cup each, only two cups on the tray as mrs. p. already had her own cup sitting on her tiny side table. Uh huh….

It began easily enough with a round of questions as to what do I do for a living, “an artist, ahh.  I seeee.  no, I mean, what do you  REALLY do?”, and other queries in that vein. She then proceeded to still more questions about the location of my home, “ahh. I seee…I believe I drove past that um, area once…mmm…”  but as the afternoon wore on and more tea was consumed by the good lady,  the questions grew  less to the point of our visit.   Mrs. P. relaxed a little too visibly and began to speak of the grandeur of Heather’s upbringing and her own exalted status in the community.

“Forr exshample, this ssshhh…ermm..CHHAIRR upon which i sh..sh..ssit” she began. “it onesh belonged to the shhh..erm..Shhhah of Irang.  He gave it to me on the occashhion of my reshent vishhit to his lovely (HIC) parrdon home.  He washh delighted by my interpretashhhion of a ballad I ushed to shing when I wash with the New Yark..York Phlaparmonic.  I shall give you an ideear of my former gander…I wash alwayshh hoping that Heather might have inherited sshome of my giftsh but..alashh…” another glare at Heather, rather more bleary this time.  Heather ducked behind my Chanel jacket and wished fervently that she were anywhere but where she was.

At this point things got a lot more interesting.  Mrs. Pinfeather stood up on her ‘sshair’, a dainty if somewhat wobbly backless affair, and began to belt out a tuneless but really loud version of “Won’t you come home, Bill Bailey”.  Things might have worked out better for the redoubtable Mrs.P. had not the chair decided at that point to go south, and the great lady was dumped unceremoniously to the deep lush carpet, where she promptly passed out cold.

Heather and I chose that moment to make our graceful exit, legs and wings leaping and flapping out the front door withall speed lest our hostess should awaken before we were safely away.

In the car on the way home I turned to heather and said, “gee, I think that went well, don’t you?”  To which heather replied, “Oyeah.  for real. I’m all packed”.  “When were we leaving for dragoworld again….and would it be at all possible to stay a week?”

We may throw caution to the winds and do just that.  I hope the chair can be repaired..It may just be needed again in the very near future. Posted by Susan.  Visit Galerie Yggdrasil and see all our offerings (burnt and otherwise).

Advertisements

Tags: , , , , ,

3 Responses to “Milady’s chair…….”

  1. dalai grandma Says:

    Adorable. I have always loved shoes, and eccentricity. Hers combine those two themes.

  2. dalai grandma Says:

    I mean the shoes on the chairs, not to in any way demean her excellent feet.

  3. susan owen Says:

    thank you,jeanne! i guess they must be into hot shoes also in ‘irang’.
    ha. both mrs. p and i are extremely eccentric, but it works for us. i do it without the gin, though. ugh

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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: