Sunday, December 6, 2015

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapters 24d & 25a)

I don't know how he knows, but he knows.
     Under Christian's guidance, Crockett lands the hot-air balloon right in front of my mother's house.
     "Would you like to come in for a bit?" I ask Christian.
     "Yes," he answers.
     "Really?" I squeal in happiness.
     "No," he says.
     With that, the hot air balloon starts to rise, taking my boyfriend par ardua ad alta upon a hazardous and technically unexplainable journey into the outer stratosphere. Christian looks at Crockett, who looks back at Christian. Crockett raises his shoulders in the international sign of I-Don't-Know-What-Just-Happened-Boss.
     "This is a highly irregular procedure! This is absolutely unprecedented!" Christian declares, as he falls upward into the distance. "And it ruined my exit!"
     My mother and step-father run outside to see what all the hub-bub is about. Seeing Christian, they wave goodbye.
     "Who's that?" my step-father asks my mother.
     "I have no idea," my mother answers back.
     "Oh, come back!" I cry to the wind. "Don't go without me! Please come back!"
     "I can't come back!" Christian cries out, too. He looks at Crockett, who again gives him a shrug of helplessness, as opposed to a shrug of helpfulness. "I don't know how it works!"
     "Oh," I cry out in disappointment.
     Using his middle fingers, Christian gives the thumbs-up sign with both hands to my parents and the rest of those of their neighbors who've come out of their trailers to see if the government was handing out free cheese again.
     "Goodbye, folks!" Christian says, waving.
     They all wave back.
     "Goodbye! Goodbye!" they say to the man floating away in the balloon.
     "Mother?"
     "Yes, Ana?"
     "Christian won't be staying for dinner," I tell her.
     "No kidding," she says. "Well, that's okay. It gives you and me a little mother/daughter time together. What would you like?"
     "Believe it or not," I tell her, "I'd like a proper cup of coffee from a proper coffeepot. Tin coffeepots or iron coffeepots, they're of no use to me, so I'll have a proper cup of coffee in a proper coffeepot, or I'll have a cup of tea."
     "Sounds like just what the doctor ordered," she tells me. "Do you suppose when a doctor gets sick and another doctor doctors him, does the doctor doing the doctoring have to doctor the doctor the way the doctor being doctored wants to be doctored, or does the doctor doing the doctoring of the doctor doctor the doctor as he wants to do the doctoring?"
     "Some biscuits would be nice," I say, purposely ignoring her blatherings.
     "Why, isn't that a coincidence," she tells me. "I bought a bit of baking powder and baked a batch of biscuits. I brought a big basket of biscuits back to the bakery and baked a basket of big biscuits. Then I took the big basket of biscuits and the basket of big biscuits and mixed the big biscuits with the basket of biscuits that was next to the big basket and put a bunch of biscuits from the basket into a biscuit mixer and brought the basket of biscuits and the box of mixed biscuits and the biscuit mixer to the bakery, and then I made a pot of coffee in a proper coffeepot."
     I don't know what's gotten into my mother, so I say, "That's nice, mom," and get on my phone to send Christian a quick text.
     "How's the weather up there?" I type.
    
From: Chistian Grey
To: Anastasia Steele
 
Whether the weather be fine or whether the weather be not, whether the weather be cold or whether the weather be hot, I'll weather the weather, whatever the weather, whether I like it or not.
 
     "What's that contraption, dear?" my mother asks, looking at the rectangular object in my hand.
     "It's a phone, mom," I tell her.
     "Oh, sure it is, dearie," she says. "Sure it is. And did one of your imaginary boyfriends give it to you?"
     "As a matter of fact..." I begin, but my mother interrupts.
     "You know, it's so good you're here," she tells me. "We haven't talked in ages and have so much to catch up on. I can't wait to..."
     "In a minute, mom," I say, typing off another text to Christian.
    
From: Anastasia Steele
To: Christian Grey
 
Where are you now?
 
From: Christian Grey
To: Anastasia Steele
 
We've caught a bit of a tailwind. We're practically in India now.
    
     "Indianapolis?" I type.
     "No," Christian types back.
 
Indianapolis isn't in India, Ana. Indians are in India and Indians are in Indiana, but the Indian Indians and the Indiana Indians aren't identical Indians. The Indians in India are Indian Indians and the Indians in Indiana are indigenous Indians.
 
     "Come sit at the table with me, Ana," my mom interrupts again. "I'm so anxious to talk with you."
     "Sure, mom," I assure her. "After this."
 
From: Anastasia Steele
To: Christian Grey
 
I miss you so much, Christian, I'd be with you right now, if I could.
 
     "Yes, Ana," Christian writes back, "I would be with you too, if only I hadn't dropped you off at that homeless shelter."
     "Homeless shelter?" I write back. "That was my mother's house!"
     "Of course it was, Ana," Christian writes. "Of course it was."
     "Oh, Ana," my mother interjects, "you being here is such a blessing to me."
     "What did you say, mom?" I ask, as I get right back on my phone to fire off another message to Christian.
 
From: Anastasia Steele
To: Christian Grey
 
You're not judging me by where my parents live, are you Christian?
 
From: Christian Grey
To: Anastasia Steele
 
A gentle judge judges justly, Ana. A gentle judge judges justly.
 
From: Anastasia Steele
To: Christian Grey
 
Grrrrr!
 
From: Christian Grey
To: Anastasia Steele
 
Are you growling at me, Miss Steele? I possess a cat of my own for growlers. Come to think of it, I haven't seen Fluffy lately. I wonder where she's off to?
 
From: Anastasia Steele
To: Christian Grey
 
Um, gotta go. I can't wait to talk with my mom.
 
     "Understood," Christian types back and signs off.
   
Chapter 25a
 
     "Now can we talk, Ana?"
     "Sorry, mom," I say. "Gotta go."
 
 
American Chimpanzee
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RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com
@JimDuchene
  

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