35 Pokey old orange juice carton

Granny Guss ached from guilt for a second, because of the flyswatter. When Regis and Kelly wrapped up just before 10:00, her eyelids shut and she toppled over, legs hauled up like mud onto the huge recliner. Her noggin normally landed with sweet dreams on a beloved Carmel gift shop cushion, but an empty orange juice carton was in the way which gave her old shoulder a poke. “Ow!” she shouted, and sat up again. It was then she remembered baby Drew had her flyswatter. Were the scourge of untold pests in hand, the sitting duck of an orange juice carton would have been mincemeat.
“What a chintzy gift for the little guy!” she reproached herself. “It ain’t even new.”
She said a short prayer to The Almighty via St. Christopher, with an aside about getting one of his medals for her grandson’s next birthday. “Let’s let it hang about the flyswatter, Saint C. I think the baptism boy likes it, blood spattered and all. He’s already got a few notches of his own! Amen.”
But prayer made right, not a way out. She knew she had to give a present intended for baby Drew’s christening. Even though little Drew relished taking possession of it, the flyswatter, for all matters of conscience, was nothing more than a face-saving gesture: “Oh yeah, here, have this . . .” Granny must make amends, or God would sneer. And worse.
The Lord be praised that Granny Guss had the true Kelly Ripa spirit. There was a way to make everything right – right away! A smile is a frown turned upside down! Didn’t Kelly say that? Did Reeg? Who was it, if not Regis or Kelly? Maybe it was a song? It was a song, a line from a song! What was the song? Damn orange juice carton! Ow! Ow! Ow! That sounds like a song, but not the right song.
Guilt was already a million miles away.


One Response to “35 Pokey old orange juice carton”

  1. Peter Smith Says:

    That stinky old lady on that stinky old couch. More. More.

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