The Window, the Widow, the Wig, and the Wolf

The widow, Althea, put her false teeth in a glass of Mosel wine, wondering if the alcohol might burn off the yellow stains.  Althea refused to use Polident, preferring to eschew all symbols of old age.  Except the wig (horrible hair was her inheritance from her late father’s side), which she stubbornly wore in shades of hot pink champagne.  At 86 she no longer cared what people thought, in fact, she enjoyed the whispered comments–it was her way of socializing.

Most times she sat at her first floor bedroom window, in her favorite comfy chair, covered with her white chennelle throw, waiting to see if any animals emerged from the woods that edged her lot.  She tossed leftovers up close to the woods, but while the raccoons, squirrels, and birds liked most of it, none of them would eat her lasagna.  It sat there, rejected, refused, and rotting.  Hopeless.

The momma wolf took pity on Althea, knowing the many ways the old were stuck coping with the crummy outlook of their last days.  The momma wolf had recently been shoved aside by a younger female plus that pink wig in the window was rather intriguing.  Momma took a dainty bite of old lasagna and gagged.  She walked up to Althea’s window and shook her head. Althea toasted the wolf with a glass of white wine, wondering if she invite the wolf in.

Althea opened the window and set out a bowl of wine for the wolf.  Momma moved closer and took a sniff.  Fruit?  She lapped up the whole bowl, giggled, ran in a circle, and burped.  Althea put her pink wig on the momma’s head and poured more wine for both.


5 responses to “The Window, the Widow, the Wig, and the Wolf

  1. Hi Ann,
    I love this bizarre, fun tale of the elderly. Looks like you had fun writing it. It’s been 9 years since I took your class and although my own writing has dropped off quite a bit I always enjoy popping into your blog and reading what everyone’s up to. This tale inspired some fun for me too.

    She pecked at the letters of her keyboard. B L A C K W I D O W. Then she let her index finger sit heavily on the back space key. Her head tilting slightly upward, she sat thrumming the fingers of her right hand on the chipped mahogany desk. She stared at no particular spot on the wall as her left thumb and middle finger gently pinched her bottom lip, a favored habit for thinking. At the moment it didn’t seem to help.

    She began again. E U R O P E A N E A R W I G. She pressed delete and watched as each letter disappeared. God, she thought. How hard is it to come up with a user name? She wanted something provocative but not too obvious, something interesting and mysterious but not cliche, but uppermost in her mind she wanted something fun and tantalizing. European Earwig…where did that come from? Nothing tantalizing about an earwig. It sounded unique but disgusting.

    She tried again. J O V I A L J U M P I N G S P I D E R. Hmm… she thought. Getting closer but not quite. Back space. J A G G E D A M B U S H B U G. Now these were definitely provocative or fun but still not exactly conveying what she had in mind. Her chin between her hands she peered out her bay window. Frustrated she glared at the red orb in the night sky. Then her mood softened. What a beautiful sight. Nothing like it. It seemed to beckon her. Asking her to come out and play. Super blood wolf moon. Sheila’s perfect username — provocative, fun, tantalizing. How could she top that?

    She decided it was time for a break. She closed her Mac Book and grabbed a Starbucks frappuccino from the fridge. She reached for the door knob of her french doors, stepped out into the darkness and settled onto the musty cushions of her sole lawn chair. She gazed at earth’s lonely satellite and imagined banded robber flies and assassin bugs creeping across its orangey-red surface. An emerald moth flew into her line of sight. She sat up, popped off her chair and skipped back to her desk. She grinned as she reopened her laptop and typed B A N D E D R E D H A R L E Q U I N. “I’m ready for you now, Sheila. Game on.”

  2. You have a quirky and unusual imagination–just the kind I like. Great fun. My favorite was Europeanearwig. Good to hear from you!

  3. Thanks, Ann. My husband and I have recently taken to macrophotography of insects. Entomologists most definitely have quirky unusual imaginations. They come up with some great names. I used some of my personal favorites that I’ve come across in this story. Thanks for the fun story and prompt. Hopefully, I’ll get back into writing. I’ve mussed it but my attempts have not been worthy of posting lately. Hopefully, they’ll improve. 🙂

  4. Maureen E Keith

    Halfway through the second bowl of wine, Momma felt dizzy and sat.
    “Much nicer in here!” Althea held the door wide, and the wolf swayed into the living room, sighing with pleasure in the warmth.
    Momma hopped up onto the loveseat and stretched out on the cushions, staring at the weirdly patterned ceiling. Althea dragged her comfy chair from the bedroom and sat with her new friend.They finished off Saturday’s meat loaf, Sunday’s chicken salad, and a two-day-old blueberry pie, washing it down with more wine. Their elderly heads flopped back and they napped, both snoring loudly.
    Someone was knocking persistently. “My foot’s gone asleep! See who it is!” Momma, still wearing the pink wig, slightly askew, with a blanket draped over her shoulders, hurried to the door and stood on her hind feet to look out the window. Syrupy blueberries clung to the fur around her mouth. Attempting the word hello, she began a small growling howl that turned into a bellowing belch. Ooooo-ooooBLEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!!!
    David McEwen jumped into the seat of the car and slammed the door. He sat staring straight ahead, hands shaking on the steering wheel. “Dave? Is everything okay?” Sarah McEwen asked.
    He turned to his wife slowly, eyes bulging in fear.

  5. Doesnt seem like anyone comes here any more

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