Suzie’s House 64: Something to Watch
Disclaimer – although I use the name of a real video store in Madison Wisconsin, the events portrayed in this blog are not specific to them and are not to be taken as a commentary on their policies or procedures.
Miranda yanked the metal handle on the door of Four Star Video with far more force than necessary, sending the chicken-wire-in-glass door flying open. It smacked against the brick exterior with an ominously ringing thud, but Miranda charged past without a glance.
There was no reason to be so upset. It wasn’t like Suzie meant to ruin Miranda’s plans. So the car broke down, and they couldn’t chase Christina. It wasn’t like Suzie wanted out of their agreement. So what they’d only learned about Christina’s intention to drive out to some place the red heads might be hiding from Cindy by accident, and weren’t likely to get another break like this anytime soon. As Miranda’s father would have said, “them’s the breaks.”
Miranda marched past the featured videos to be swallowed up by the depths of the racks. She glanced at the pictures on the cases, not bothering to read any of the titles at first. Dark colors and lots of skin. Soft porn. She’d think she was in the wrong section, but a lot of the sections looked the same lately.
Which made her mission all the harder. She wanted a video she and Vin could watch together. She wanted to sit on the couch with him and not have to worry about him getting ideas.
Kiddy section? Not likely.
She needed something Vin wouldn’t scoff at. Ratatouille might be a great movie, but Vin wasn’t likely to appreciate it.
Shallow Hal? Bleck. Coach Carter? Um…. No. It had to be something they’d both like. Miranda went through the store discarding one choice after another. Finally, in desperation, she grabbed Kingdom of Heaven. She didn’t know if it would be good or not. By the time she’d grabbed it, she just wanted out of there.
“Hi Mike,” she said at the counter. Mike glanced up, but he was already serving another customer, so he only gave her a perfunctory nod. Maybe he was having a bad day or something.
That was all right. She liked Carl better.
“Hi Carl. How’s the new bike?”
“Running smooth. I didn’t have to take the back end apart after all. So what’ll it be today?” He took the video from her and scanned it in. “That’ll be five fifty.”
“What? For one video?”
“Late fees.”
“No. That can’t be right. I paid off all my late fees.”
“When was that?”
“It was…” Mirada stared at the ceiling and bit her lip, trying to remember when she had been in last. She used to come in several times a week before she moved into Suzie’s house, but hadn’t been in much since. “About a month ago, I guess.”
“Do you have a receipt?”
“From a month ago?!” Miranda didn’t even take a receipt out of the store. How was she supposed to come up with one from a month ago? But she was sure she’d paid. She clearly remembered handing the cash over to… Mike.
“Mike!” Miranda leaned across the counter toward him and waved her fingertips back and forth. “Mike, do you remember when I was in here right before tax day and paid up all my fines?”
Mike shook his head, hardly glancing at her before taking a DVD from the next customer.
“Tax day?” Carl asked.
“April 15. Income taxes.” Miranda muttered as she pulled back. Was she imagining things, or was Mike ignoring her? “I paid. I know I did. Mike must not have credited me. Check April 15th for me,” she said to Carl.
“Nothing there.” He compressed his lips as he shook his head, as if trying to look like he regretted it.
“Fine. I’ll just pay it again.” Because she might have been wrong. She slipped her hand into her purse, looking for her wallet. It wasn’t there. Her wallet was nearly the size of the purse. It couldn’t be hiding in the folds of liner, but she groped around hopefully anyway.
Nothing. It wasn’t there. No cash, no checkbook, not even her driver’s license. Wait. What was that in the front pocket? She pulled out a few coins, gleeful to see a couple of old Sacagawea one-dollar coins in the mix. So that’s where they ended up.
“Here.” She put the coins on the counter. “That’s enough to pay for the DVD. I’ll give you the late fee next time I’m in.”
Carl shook his head, ignoring the coins on the counter.
“Oh come on, Carl. You know I’m good for it.”
“Store policy. You have to pay off your fines before you can rent again. I can put this toward your fines, but no DVD today.” He reached for the coins.
He was about to take her collectible coins and still wouldn’t give her the stupid DVD? Miranda snatched them back.
“You can’t mean this. I’m a regular customer here. You and Mike, and Ann always let me slide. You know I’m good for it. You could just look at my account and see it.”
Mike shook his head, crossing his arms now and looking grim. Carl paused between customers to watch.
Why were they acting like this? They’d always been so friendly before. She’d come to think of them as buddies. Now, when she needed them, they weren’t there for her.
Some stranger walked up, with a DVD. Carl passed it to the non-detector side without comment and without taking payment. So this stranger was a privileged customer where Miranda, who had spent hundreds of dollars at the store and knew all the employees on a first name basis, was not.
“You know what? You can just keep your stupid DVD, and your fees too. I can’t believe you would charge me the same late fee twice. Twice!” As she talked her voice grew louder and louder. “How do I know if I paid it now that you would really give me credit? I USED to be one of your best customers. You can forget that now, you two faced liars!” Other people in the store were staring at her now. Miranda felt the pin-prick of tears. She had to get out of here before she made a complete idiot of herself. “Well I don’t need all your soft porn anyway!”
Pulling her purse up against her front protectively, she rushed to the door, pushing it so hard it banged against the brick wall. She was such a fool, thinking they were her friends when they really weren’t. They didn’t care about her. They’d never cared about her.
It didn’t take long to reach the bus stop, but was long enough for her to cool down a little. At least she wouldn’t have to cry in front of anyone.
Then she realized what she’d done. Those people had never intended to be her friend. To them she was just another customer. Now they’d think she was a total lunatic. She was so embarrassed; she didn’t think she’d ever have the nerve to show up there again. Worse, she had nothing to watch with Vin tonight.
The previous was Suzie’s House 63: Brothers in Arms
This is Suzie’s House 64: Something to Watch
Next is Suzie’s House 65: Grilling Out
Thursday Thirteen 24# : Things I Have Done As a Stage Mother
I’m off working back stage at my daughter’s dance recital. I’ve done it every year for the last five. Here are thirteen things I have done because of it.
1. Paid $10 for a $1 item. Really, I could get them at the dollar store if it weren’t against the rules.
2. Forgotten everyone’s name from last year. I’m no good with names and faces.
3. Glued flowers to tutus.
4. Hemmed the backdrop while it was hanging on stage. Actually, I knelt in front of the sewing machine and fed in canvas while someone else ran it.
5. Made “deli” meat for the cast party.
6. Provided band aides, ace bandages, flashlight shines, safety pins, make up, and entrance lines.
7. Shouted from the back of the audience.
8. Gossiped. It’s like candy – no good for anyone but hard to resist.
9. Knocked over a gong.
10. Tried to rush on stage in the middle of the performance to upright said gong.
11. Opened the curtain while the guy who was supposed to leap on stage was still changing right behind me.
12. Waited, stood around, ran around like crazy, then waited some more.
13. Been yelled at for wearing blue socks instead of black. Some of the set changes take place with the curtain open and the lights off.
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By George! What a Turn About.
Last week Mr. Al said the prince would get help with his reputation from an unexpected quarter. He sure caught me by surprise.
Relations between the Prince and his parents had been on the mend for some time. Considering how things went during dad’s illness, the fact that they were even speaking to him could be considered a major advance. But then mom went and did something that caused all of London to sit up and take notice. She announced that The Prince and his brother were invited to dad’s birthday party on June 10, 1791.
Was there peace between their Majesties and their offspring? It sure looked that way. The Prince was not going to mess up this chance to make a good impression. If for no other reason than he would need to be asking for money in the near future. Terribly cynical of me, but there it is. For whatever reason, The Prince decided to dress appropriately for dad’s party.
According to The St. James Chronicle, the royal in-house newspaper, The Prince dazzled everyone with “a bottle green and claret-coloured striped silk coat and breeches, and silver tissue waist-coat, very richly embroidered in silver and stones, and coloured silks in curious devices and bouquets of flowers. The coat and waistcoat embroidered down the seams and spangled all over the body the coat and cuffs the same as the waistcoat. (I think the writer meant that the cuffs were silver tissue.) The breeches were likewise covered with spangles. Diamond buttons to the coat, waistcoat and breeches, which with his brilliant diamond epaulette, and sword, made the whole dress form a most magnificent appearance.”
Elton John couldn’t have pulled it off better.
Whatever magic was in the air held until the following August, when the King and Queen announced a grand ball to be held at St. James Palace. The biggest of the year. Invitations were sent out in plenty of time so that everyone who was anyone could have new gowns and suits made for the occasion. And what was the reason for this royal blowout? Why, only the birthday party of their Majesties beloved firstborn, The Prince of Wales! The social world of London shifted on its axis.
Mister Walter, who had already been jailed twice for writing anti-prince pieces at the Kings behest, was not invited. Nor did anyone ask for his thoughts on the party. But The Times did report that ” perhaps no heir to the Crown since the days of the Black Prince has been more generously admired for his amiable manners than the Prince of Wales; and the very happy and substantial reconciliation that has taken place between H.R.H. and his august parents, contributed in no small degree to the pleasures and festivities of the day.”
I think the Prince could be forgiven if he double-checked the masthead to make sure he was reading the right paper.
And on that happy note, we will leave The Prince for a bit and take a look at his brothers.
Stage Mom
I’m busy with the girl’s dance recital now. I’ve already put in several hours trying to figure out which prop is supposed to go where when, but not nearly as much as I did last year.
It seems I’ve been supplanted as stage manager. I went in expecting to do my usual work and found someone else doing it instead. And I feel…
… such relief!
I’m almost giddy with it. I will still end up doing a lot of work for the program, but I don’t have to answer questions anymore. This is especially good because the teacher never liked answering them when I asked, and I always ended having to ask her.
Have you ever been glad to lose a position of authority? Even if you still had to do a lot of the same work?
Modern Furniture
This is another one of those emails that have been forwarded a gazillion times before I get it, so who knows where it originally came from. According to the email, it’s Japanese furniture.
Can you imagine being invited to a party then told you have to help set up? And it looks like that? All right, let’s give it a try.
They look light enough. No one seems to be getting hurt. Heck, I think even I could do that.
It didn’t even take all that long.
Bottom line? I want one.
Wilted Lettuce
from the Don’t Eat Your Heart Out cookbook
2 bunches leaf lettuce
1/3 tsp or less of salt
1/4 tsp pepper
1/3 tsp sugar
1/2 white onion, thinly sliced
2 Tbs olive oil
1/4 c cider vinegar
2 Tbs water
Tear lettuce into bite-sized pieces; toss with salt, pepper, sugar and onion. Warm live oil; add vinegar and water, heat to boiling and pour over lettuce. Eat now.
13 Broken Bones
We continue the story of Jack and Jill from last week when Jack fell off the roof.
Jill: How do you feel?
Jack: Ow!
Jill: The doctor said you broke 13 bones, but the worst was your little toe. He thought for a little while they were going to have to amputate.
Jack: More morphine, please.
Jill: He said the two cracked ribs would probably hurt the longest.
Jack: groan.
Jill: He said I could take you home the day after tomorrow.
Jack: Huh?!
Jill: I’ll get you weaned off the pain meds right away.
Jack: Nurse!!!!
Jill: Don’t worry Jack. I’ll take great care of you, just wait and see.
Previously in Jack and Jill Jack Fell Down
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Suzie’s House 63: Brothers in Arms
Joseph sat in a matching recliner. He was sweating hard. “You aren’t any worse than me. You’ll be fine.”
“This isn’t like With Uncle Seamus in Ireland. We aren’t fugitives hiding in someone’s cellar, afraid to let anyone know we were anywhere near the bomb when it went off, or happened to have be in the same apartment as a dead man.”
“Yes we are.”
“In an apartment with a dead man?” Sean lifted his head and looked around the cramped little efficiency.
It wasn’t theirs. Joseph wasn’t entirely sure who was renting the efficiency, only that one of the letters she’d left for the mailman said she’d be going to Thailand for a couple of months to study Batik, and hadn’t been able to find a Sublette.
“I don’t see a dead man. Unless you mean me,” Sean said with growing alarm.
“No. Fugitives, I mean. We ARE fugitives here.”
“Just because some whack job took a shot at us…”
“No. Because I took a shot at the whack job’s partner. They’re cops who were trolling for you.”
“What?!” Sean tried to sit up, flinched, and fell back.
“They are cops.”
“Not that part.” He waved a hand in the air.
“They were trolling for you.”
“Not that part either.”
“I shot one of them?”
“There you go. What do you mean you shot one?”
Before he answered, Joseph took up a bottle of vodka and splashed some on the bandage over his hip, then sucked in a lot of air at the burn.
“Here, sterilize your wound.” He held it out to Sean.
“No.” Sean flopped his head back and forth in refusal. “I need a hospital. I need an IV, and antibiotics, and pretty nurses.”
“Eat the chicken soup I made for you.”
“I lost a lot of blood, Joe. Maybe I need a transfusion.”
“Quit whining.”
“At least tell me what you mean you shot someone.”
Joseph switched the vodka for some beer, which he guzzled down. “Remember nearly a month ago when you decided to make a special appearance in that game you set up online as the Smash Master.”
“You mean the street demolition derby we did around Vilas Park?”
“You were gunning for the taxi driver with the red barrette.”
“Yeah,” Sean’s eyes gleamed in avaricious humor. “I really wanted to nail his ass. He was such a challenge. But he never showed.”
“He’s a cop working under cover. I heard it from the taxicab company where he supposedly worked. I caught up with him around the capital square, drove him toward Monona Terrace, and took him out. Only his partner saw me, and he didn’t die.”
“Oh my God.” Sean turned so pale Joseph actually started to worry about him. “You idiot! The most they would have done to me would’ve been a little jail time. It isn’t like I’d have killed him, just totaled his taxi.”
“Yeah, well he and his partner live in a house with two women and a teen age boy. The boy I told you to leave alone. They probably think you were trying to kidnap the kid, especially after I’d gone to their house and asked a bunch of questions.”
Sean groaned. “I just wanted to talk to him, maybe give him some driving lessons. He looked like I felt when I was his age.”
“I doubt that.” Joseph snorted in disgust. “At that age you had already set a dozen bombs and stabbed one man in a knife fight.”
The two of them lapsed into silence for several minutes; each thinking about the grand, but terrible time of their lives when every moment could be their last and everything they did was in the name of a cause far greater than themselves.
“Remember the time Clancy McCrae took a knife to the gut and we hid him in some old woman’s back bedroom?” Sean looked over at Joseph with something like wariness in his eyes.
“Mmm-hmmm. That I do.”
“I wanted to take him to hospital, but everyone said we couldn’t because he’d finger the rest of us.”
“I remember,” Joseph said grimly. It was then he learned to value something greater than himself, something more worthy than his own life.
“Clancy died. He died for nothing.”
“No. Not for nothing. He died to protect us, and so Ireland could be free of British rule.”
“But Ireland is still under British rule and there’s no one left fighting, and he didn’t want to die for us. He kept begging us to take him to hospital. So it was all for nothing.”
Joseph didn’t say anything. The collapse of all the resistance in Ireland still struck him a heavy blow. And the way Clancy died hadn’t been very noble.
“If I really need to go to the hospital, you’ll take me, won’t you?”
Joseph didn’t say anything. He was still trying to work out the honor in how Clancy had died. There had to be some honor in it, or all the things he had done in his life had no meaning. He and Sean had done so much that other people would consider wrong. Only the higher cause made any of it right. So there had to be a higher cause. But if so, what was it?
“You wouldn’t really let me die, would you Joe?” Sean looked worried.
The previous was Suzie’s House 62: You Can and I Can’t?
This is Suzie’s House 63: Brothers in Arms
Next is Suzie’s House 64: Something to Watch
Thursday Thirteen #23 :Sounds from around the house
[Due to problems with WordPress, the photo will have to be added later.]
I was sitting around in my office, thinking about what to blog about today when I heard a lound thud from the next room. I still don’t know what it was. But I do know what a lot of the other sounds I hear are.
1. Rattle, rattle, scrape, thunk, crash – I thought it was the hamster escaping from his cage, but it turned out to be Mr. Al coming home from work. I still don’t know exactly why he made all that noise, but I’m glad I didn’t have to catch the hamster.2. Screee-clunk, screee-clunk, scree-clunk – If you don’t carefully latch the screen door, the wind will whip it around. The worn-out piston that’s supposed to keep it from slamming goes scree as the screen door opens. The clunk is when it slams again.
3. Mystery music. I’d like to blame this on the neighbors, but often their lights are all off when I hear it late at night. I wander through the house listening, and can never figure out where it’s coming from.
4. Chirp, twitter twitter, chirp. Birds make their nests under the awning.
5. Rattle, rattle, fwap. Mr. Al turning the newspaper.
6. Fwoomp, rattle rattle, fizz. Mr. Al pouring a glass of soda pop.
7. Clackilty, clackity, clack. Me typing. I do a lot of that.
8. Clack. Clack. Pause. Clack. Mr. Al typing.
9. Whhhhhrrrrrrrrrr. The computer running.
10. Whomp. Screee. Whoooooosh. The furnace coming on. Hmmm. Maybe I should do something about that.
11. Rrrrrrorrrrrrrr. Cars passing. We get a fair amount of that for such a small town.
12. Creeeeeeeek. Someone trying to sneak up on me. Hah! Like I couldn’t tell.
13. Boom. “Hi Mom!” The kids coming home from school.
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By George! He’s Not Giving Up on His Own Reputation
As we’ve seen over the last few weeks, actually over the life of this series, George IV had some serious problems with his family, his reputation, and his own emotions. When we left off, Brighton threw him a birthday party when his own parents ignored him.
Over the course the following year, The Prince and the Duke tried to increase the fortunes of the Whig party in London. Little was achieved; not least because, politically speaking, The Prince and the Duke were not exactly poster children for political reform. Nor did his close association with a spoiled, drunken prat like The Prince help Fox’s position as self-anointed “Champion of the People”.
It was Fox’s cross to bear that he and The Prince were so much alike. Fox genuinely liked The Prince, most people did. At least when he was behaving himself. Even his most vocal Tory enemies admitted he could charm the skin off a snake; when he was sober and applied himself. And therein lay the crux of Fox’s dilemma. It wasn’t only that The Prince drank too much; The Prince hardly held a corner in that particular market, public drunkenness was a fact of life at all class levels at that time. His worst offense was that he was emotionally incapable of applying himself to anything that did not involve his own pleasure.
He had been so utterly cocooned from the real world, and any real responsibility, that his turning out the way he did was almost a forgone conclusion. The fact that both parents treated him like an infant even after he had grown out of what we would today call pre- school age, must have had a negative effect. The fact that all his brothers were treated the same way, and their emotional responses to the Real World differed from The Princes only as a matter of degree, says much about the way they were raised.
It must have been intensely frustrating to Fox to realize that The Prince could disarm his political enemies and virtually secure the fortunes of the Whig party if only he would quit acting like a prat. But then, because of his own behavior, he was hardly in a position to deliver a sermon on proper adult demeanor. As I was saying, before I so rudely interupted myself, the year 1790 was a shaky one for The Prince.
It was, for one thing, a year of litigation. The Times, by far the most influential paper in England, was almost always against him. And why not, the papers publisher, John Walter, was receiving money from a secret government fund, (read: dad.) to keep up a steady stream of anti-prince, anti- Whig propaganda. Early in 1790, The Prince sued him for libel. He won. Walter was fined and imprisoned.
Upon his release a couple of months later, he was back at it. The Prince sued him again. And won again. This time, The Prince himself intervened to get Walter released before his sentence was up. Did His Highness get any brownie points for being such a nice guy? Of course not. As soon as Walter was back in his office, he was attacking The Prince as venomously as he had before.
There was a bright spot in this otherwise dismal year, however. One that went a long way to repairing The Prince’s battered reputation. And from the most unexpected quarter.
Girl Scout Cookie Winner
The winner of the Trefoils is Agatha Craxie . Agatha, please contact me with your shipping info. I can be reached through Alice Audrey Write at aol dot com.
Life, Death, and Taxes
I’m almost done with taxes. If I hadn’t stopped to watch an Inuyasha disk I’d have finished. It’s Mr. Al’s fault for luring me to the couch. Anyway I still have a few hours to get it done in.
Usually at this time of year I dream in numbers. I will be so immersed in the work that I see papers covered in instructions and numbered columns in my sleep. Not this year. In the last few days my dreams have been filled with the world Greg Bear created in his book Legacy. I dream of ecosystems that are organisms in and of themselves. I dream of hollowed out asteroids turned into star ships and strange, scientific thingies that let you walk into any number of different worlds.
I’m enjoying to book, but I can’t help making a few comparisons. This is pretty typical Science Fiction fare. It is written in first person narrative, yet feels several steps removed from the character’s experiences. Although there is a significant romantic subplot, this book would never cut it as a Romance because it never evokes the feelings of love, lust, or attachment.
There is a lot of life and death in this book. It features the massacre of a town, the sinking of a boat with the loss of all but five of those on board, and the struggles of a man who is alien to the local culture, which is in turn alien to it’s chosen planet. Yet it doesn’t make my heart speed up.
In comparison Patricia McLinn’s book The Games featured skiing, hockey, ice skating, and biathlon. In this case biathlon means cross country skiing and target shooting. Although there are some moments when you can’t be sure the characters will all come out alive, there isn’t nearly as much death. Yet it got my heart pounding.
Likewise, Jodi Henley’s book, Hot Contract, has some heart-pounding moments. It’s full of madness and mayhem, which I tend to like in my reading. There’s a fair amount of death here, from a friend of the heroine who takes a nose dive from way too many floors up of an unfinished building, to a shoot out on the lip of a volcano. It’s a tad bloody, but not depressing in the way parts of Legacy can be.
Both The Games and Hot Contract start off rough with confusing wording or head hopping. In both cases I put my faith in the author and pushed through and was rewarded in spades. I’m not sure I’d have pushed through with Legacy, even though I’ve read half a dozen Greg Bear books and enjoyed them all. I think it’s because I knew Romance would give me an immediacy that is simply missing from most Science Fiction.
Don’t get me wrong. I am definitely gong to finish reading this book, which is more than I can say for about a third of all the books I pick up in any given year. It’s got it’s hooks in me. Now if I can only figure out why.
Do you get hooked on books you don’t enjoy? Enjoy books you think you shouldn’t? Do you read for the immediacy of a story? Or can the story be told from several steps back and still please you?
Who Are You Meme
Andi of the Unhinged persuasion tagged me. Oh well. I knew it was only a matter of time because I could see this one going around. Here goes:
You’re feeling: Not too bad. Not going to say anything more because I don’t want to jinx it.
To your left: a wall. In front of that is a clock, three book cases, two file baskets. and a stack of books to go to the second hand book store.
On your mind: Taxes, Legacy by Greg Bear, Suzie’s House, and lunch.
Last meal included: Pancakes with yogurt and mandarin oranges. Oh, wait. You mean the last meal before I wrote this or the last meal before I posted. Oh come on. I’ve got to have a life sometime.
You sometimes find it hard to: not pick my nose. Hey, you asked.
The weather: 75 degrees right now. 40 this morning and probably the same again later. A couple of days ago it snowed, but the flakes melted as they hit the ground.
Something you have a collection of: Miniature perfume bottles. Not that I like perfume. I don’t. But I love bottles so small they can’t even hold an ounce.
A smell that cheers you up: “Chocolate chip cookies in the oven.” Yeah, what Andi said.
A smell that can ruin your mood: Burning engine oil.
How long since you last shaved: Um… shave?
The current state of your hair: same as always – like having a soft brillo pad glued to my head.
The largest item on your desk/workspace (not computer): In baskets. Wanna see?
Your skill with chopsticks: Excellent! I can pass a boiled peanut with chopsticks.
Which section do you head for first in a bookstore: Romance, Science Fiction, Reference, and the bargain bin.
Something you’re craving: Um… yeah. Did I mention this is a PG-13 blog?
Your general thoughts on the presidential race: I’m just waiting for it to go away for another 4 years.
How many times have you been hospitalized this year: You mean in 2008? None so far.
Favorite place to go for a quiet moment: Quiet moment? What’s that?
You’ve always secretly thought you’d be a good: Writer. Ok, so maybe it’s not so secret.
Something that freaks you out a little: Can’t think of anything right now, but ask next week and I’m sure I’ll have come up with something.
Something you’ve eaten too much of lately: lettuce
You have never: Sky dived. Now I don’t even want to.
You never want to: go to the doctor. It’s generally a waste of time and money.
The five people I’m tagging: Five? Five!? Oh fine. I tag the entire Romance Roundtable
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Skillet Bread
I got this one from my mother, whom – I believe – got it from a newspaper years ago. This one is not diet food.
1 c flour
1/3 c cornmeal
2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp sugar
3 Tbsp butter
1 pinch salt
1/2 c milk
Mix dry ingredients. Cut in butter. Gradually add milk. Kneed into a ball. Break off fist sized balls from the main ball. Pat flat with hands until about 1/2 inch thick.
Drop into frying pan with lots of butter. Fry about 10 minutes on medium heat on each side until golden brown all around.
Jack Fell Down
Jill: Jack? Oh no! Jack!
Jill: You didn’t go up on the roof after I told you not to, did you?
Jack: (silence)
Jill: You did! Oh no! Are you all right?
Jack: (groan)
Jill: Oh no! What do I do? What do I do?
Jack: (groan)
Jill: Oh, your leg, your arms, you… neck? Can you feel anything?
Jack: Ouch. 
Jill: Booo hoooo! I killed my husband. I told him to paint the house and now he’s almost dead.
Jack: Jill? Dial 911. (groan) Now, please.
****
Previously in Jack and Jill No Jack No
Next in Jack and Jill 13 Broken Bones
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