A Call From Mama
I just want to tell you in complete sincerity, that should your situation become dire and you need donated blood platelets or a kidney, don't hesitate to call Kelcey.
Marinka tries to regain the will to live when Mama calls.
Mama: How are you feeling, Marinka?
Marinka: Sadly, mama, I cannot boast of good health.
Mama: Did you open the windows to air the germs out?
Marinka: (in hermetically sealed room) Yes.
Mama: Did you the open them in true? Because I know you nervous that Nicki falls out of window.
Marinka: Of course I did. I feel the germs are leaving the apartment. Oh, there goes another one.
Mama: Good. Fresh air is important for health. You need fresh air.
Marinka: I was just reading.
Mama: I was going to watch Judge Judy, but she's not appearing. I don't know.
Marinka: Maybe it's on later.
Mama: Later not convenient. Later I have things to do. I give her ten more minutes.
Marinka: I'm hoping for the best.
Mama: You know, I saw picture of Cindy Crawford's daughters--gorgeous.
Marinka: She has one daughter and one son.
Mama: No, two girls. Beauties.
Marinka: I know the oldest is a boy because his name is Presley. And I am an US Weekly Scholar.
Mama: That means nothing. My neighbor had cat named Elvis. But he was cat, not a boy. Can't go by names these days. Like that Orange.
Mama: Maybe Tangerine? Something citrus.
Marinka: Apple. Besides, why is it shocking that a supermodel has gorgeous children? If Quasimodo has beautiful children, then it's newsworthy.
Mama: You be surprised. I see attractive parents, ugly children.
Marinka: ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT YOU AND PAPA HAVING ME?
Mama: No. Not about present company. Are you sure it's not Clementine?
Marinka: APPLE! APPLE! APPLE!
Mama: Ok, calm down. This is why you get sick, you worry about nonsense and keep window closed. If it makes you happy, we say Cindy Crawford's daughter is a boy. Named Apple. I'm making joke. Everything is ok, Marinka. Feel better.
Marinka: Thanks, Mama. I am feeling stronger now.
I am feeling better. Thanks everyone for your expressions of concern about my health. I assume that you've sent these concerns telepathically, since I haven't received any in my inbox. On a related note, whoever said "it's the thought that counts" misspoke. Or misthought. What really counts are gifts. And Apple.
Labels: Fun with mama and papa