On such a blistering hot day, the little girls' sidewalk lemonade stand was a welcome site to Sheila, sweating through her shirt. She approached the small table, eager for a cool drink. A small sign read:
COLD LEMONADE $0.25
"Hello girls, what are your names?" asked Sheila.
"Lemonade!" the older of the young entrepreneurs shouted. "Like to buy a cup?"
"Yes, please." She reached into her purse for a quarter and handed it over. "Here you go."
The girls frowned. "It's fifty cents a cup, Miss."
Sheila frowned too. "But your sign—"
COLD LEMONADE $0.50
"That's odd," said Sheila, "I could've sworn that sign said twenty five cents a moment ago." She laughed and searched her purse for additional change. "Here."
The older girl accepted the payment and placed it on the table, counted it out. One quarter, two dimes, and a nickel.
"Miss, I'm sorry, but this is only fifty cents. Our lemonade is one dollar."
Sheila, confused and getting annoyed, still sweating and growing thirstier, said, "Wait a minute, not only does your sign say fifty cents—"
COLD LEMONADE $1.00
"Well, now that's really weird." Sheila stopped, wondering if the heat was making her lose her mind. "Okay, I don't know what's happening with your sign, some sort of trick you're playing somehow, but you just told me with your own mouth that the lemonade costs fifty cents. Now you say a dollar."
The younger girl started to cry.
"Oh, please don't cry, I'm not sure—"
"Hold on, please," said the older girl, "I'll get my mom."
"Fine, get her."
The girls turned and stepped inside their house. Four minutes and forty seven seconds later, they returned with a forty year old woman built like a professional weight lifter. "What did you say to make my little girl cry?"
"Ma'am, I beg your pardon, but I think there's been a misunderstanding."
"Look, Miss, I don't know what your problem is, but just because you don't wanna pay two dollars for a cup of lemonade—"
"Two dollars?!" Sheila looked at the sign.
COLD LEMONADE $2.00
"Yeah, two dollars. The money will help fund my girls' education."
Sheila couldn't take it anymore.
"Nevermind, thanks anyway, I've got to get home."
Walking away, Sheila could hear the mom shouting, "Hey you, get back here! Since you'd be a new customer, we'll give you a cup for a buck fifty!"
Showing posts with label Sheila. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sheila. Show all posts
Keep Calm and Pass to Mertesacker
"Honey, can you run out for some bread?"
Tactic number one: ignore. Mark kept his eyes peeled to the screen as if he hadn't heard his wife's request.
"Honey?"
Tactic number two: plead. "But it's the middle of the Ghana Germany game. Can I go when it's over?"
Sheila frowned. "The rest of the food will be out any minute. Isn't this why we have DVR? Can't you pause it?"
Moments later Mark walked up 22nd Street, cursing under his breath. He looked around him – people's windows were open. He'd have to avoid hearing any loud cheers or shouting as any errant word could give away the action of the match and ruin the rest of it for him. But how could he shut himself off from the sounds all around him? Ghana had only just tied the score at 1 – 1 when he'd left the house.
At the market he was careful not to make eye contact with anyone. While he doubted that shoppers were, say, following the game on their smart phones and/or chatting about more recent play than he'd seen, he didn't want to take any chances. He paid for the bread and began his walk home.
Then it happened: a man stepped out from a row home and Mark's gaze fell upon the man's shirt, a shirt that could only belong to a Germany fan:
Without thinking, his eyes moved from the man's shirt to his face, only for an instant, and Mark started to panic. What was that expression? Certainly not elation, but not downright depression either. Mark looked at his watch and saw that twelve minutes had passed since he'd left his house. How much could happen in twelve minutes? A lot. A lot can happen in twelve minutes in a match. That Germany fan in the Mertesacker shirt looked defeated. Ghana must've taken the lead. No, maybe he just looked stoic. No, perhaps he stepped out to catch his breath because he'd recently been screaming with unbridled joy. No. No, no, no!
"Sheila, here's your bread." Mark practically leapt past her and back onto the couch, fumbling the remote as he reached for it.
"Come on Mark, keep calm."
"Keep calm?!" He turned to his wife. "Are you in cahoots with that Germany fan down the street?"
Sheila had no idea what Mark's question meant, so she sighed and decided to use tactic number one herself. She ignored him.
Tactic number one: ignore. Mark kept his eyes peeled to the screen as if he hadn't heard his wife's request.
"Honey?"
Tactic number two: plead. "But it's the middle of the Ghana Germany game. Can I go when it's over?"
Sheila frowned. "The rest of the food will be out any minute. Isn't this why we have DVR? Can't you pause it?"
Moments later Mark walked up 22nd Street, cursing under his breath. He looked around him – people's windows were open. He'd have to avoid hearing any loud cheers or shouting as any errant word could give away the action of the match and ruin the rest of it for him. But how could he shut himself off from the sounds all around him? Ghana had only just tied the score at 1 – 1 when he'd left the house.
At the market he was careful not to make eye contact with anyone. While he doubted that shoppers were, say, following the game on their smart phones and/or chatting about more recent play than he'd seen, he didn't want to take any chances. He paid for the bread and began his walk home.
Then it happened: a man stepped out from a row home and Mark's gaze fell upon the man's shirt, a shirt that could only belong to a Germany fan:
Without thinking, his eyes moved from the man's shirt to his face, only for an instant, and Mark started to panic. What was that expression? Certainly not elation, but not downright depression either. Mark looked at his watch and saw that twelve minutes had passed since he'd left his house. How much could happen in twelve minutes? A lot. A lot can happen in twelve minutes in a match. That Germany fan in the Mertesacker shirt looked defeated. Ghana must've taken the lead. No, maybe he just looked stoic. No, perhaps he stepped out to catch his breath because he'd recently been screaming with unbridled joy. No. No, no, no!
"Sheila, here's your bread." Mark practically leapt past her and back onto the couch, fumbling the remote as he reached for it.
"Come on Mark, keep calm."
"Keep calm?!" He turned to his wife. "Are you in cahoots with that Germany fan down the street?"
Sheila had no idea what Mark's question meant, so she sighed and decided to use tactic number one herself. She ignored him.
The Breast Milk Savings Plan
"Mark! Hey buddy!"
"Michael, hi, good to see you." The two old friends embraced.
"Been way too long, thanks for stopping by."
"Sure, thanks for having me."
"Come on in."
Mark stepped into the foyer of Michael's Bryn Mawr mansion, a multi-million dollar home in the Philadelphia suburbs. He tried to remember the last time he'd seen Michael, but couldn't.
"Gosh, Mike, this house is incredible."
"Thanks bro! Yeah, we like it, been here five years now."
"When's the last time we hung out?"
"Hmm, don't know, probably that first year after college?"
"Sounds about right. Time really flies."
"Well, I can understand why you never wanna leave the city, even though we're only a short drive away."
As Michael spoke, his wife walked in from an adjacent room. Immediately, inadvertently, Mark noticed that her chest was much, much bigger than he remembered, though she didn't seem to have gained weight elsewhere. He assumed she'd had an enlargement.
"Mark, hi honey! It's been, like, forever?!" she opened her arms and approached for a hug, which Mark accepted, her big bosom nearly sending him backward.
"Wow, Julie, you look great."
"Thanks! How have you been?"
"Good, still in the city. Same job, same house. Sheila sends her regards."
"Oh, thank goodness for that, so many of us move out to the Main Line nowadays, but the city's so much fun! I don't blame you guys for staying. Having all of this space," she did a little twirl in place, right arm raised with palm open, as if making a presentation, "isn't all it's cracked up to be."
"I'm sure it's nice."
"Sweety," Michael said, "don't you need to go feed Mikey and Christine?"
"Yes, you're right, I'll be down later, you two have fun." With a demure wave, Julie disappeared up the stairs.
Michael sighed and led his guest into a cozy room. "How about a beer?"
"Please."
He reached behind a large wooden bar, motioning for Mark to sit on a brown leather couch. The paisley wall papered walls were covered with family photos.
"How old are your kids now?" Mark asked.
"Good question! I forget sometimes." Michael laughed loudly at his little joke. "Just kidding, Michael Jr. is seven, Christine is five."
Mark looked at his watch: nine thirty. "They eat dinner pretty late, no?"
"Oh, yes, by general standards, that's true. But our kids are always starving around this time."
"Hmm, why's that?"
"Well, Mark," Michael hesitated, then continued, "take a look around this house."
Confused, Mark did as he was asked, conspicuously letting his eyes wander around the room and through its two doorways. Designer furniture, tasteful artwork everywhere.
"How much do you think this place and all of this stuff cost?"
"I don't know, Mike, a lot, I guess?"
"Yes, Mark, yes. A lot. So as our two children grew from being babies to toddlers and on from there, we figured out a way to afford this lifestyle and still be sure they're as healthy as possible."
Mark, now even more confused, the passion with which Michael spoke making him uncomfortable, waited for his old friend to finish.
"Let me tell you Mark, the taxes alone on this place are over $25,000 a year!"
"Wow, hefty."
"Yes, Mark, yes. Hefty indeed. For these reasons and more, Julie still breast feeds our children."
"Still … breast feeds them?"
"Yes, Mark, yes. Did you happen to notice how large her breasts are?"
"I did, I mean, no, but yes, kinda."
"Well, that's because this 9:30 meal is one of the largest of the day for both children, so she was practically overflowing! By the time she comes back downstairs, she'll be two bra sizes smaller."
"Oh, that's a big difference."
"Mark, have you ever tasted breast milk?"
"Not since around age one, but yes, I have."
"Well, let me tell you, it's delicious! And nothing is more nutritious. Cow's milk is so expensive nowadays! We don't buy it in this house anymore, buddy. There's no need." Michael winked as he spoke this last sentence, sending Mark into a dizzy state of disbelief.
Just then, Julie sauntered into the room. Mark noticed she'd changed clothes and though he couldn't be sure, her breasts did look smaller.
"Oh good, Mark, glad you're still here. Michael, there's a new episode of Girls on tonight, right?"
"Yes, sweety, sure is. Maybe Mark wants to watch with us?"
"You guys have HBO!" Mark exclaimed.
Michael and Julie looked at each other and laughed. "Of course we have HBO! It's so worth it."
At this, Mark polished off his beer and placed the empty bottle on the bar. "Mike, it was great to see you. Julie, great to see you too, but I've got to get home."
"Oh, Mark, are you sure you have to go so soon?" Julie asked. "How about some homemade ice cream?"
Overpopulation
He could feel her glare as he drove their sedan away from the quiet, suburban street. They passed snow covered trees surrounding picturesque stone houses and rode over rock salt, plenty of it sure to stick between tire treads. Soon they’d be back in the city, where a layer of litter hid beneath the snow for now, until the sun would eventually reveal it, dirtier than ever.
“What did you think of the name?”
She waited a few moments before answering him. “I like it.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes before he broke it. He knew he should apologize for what happened earlier, and yet, he said, “Look, there’s no reason to have a coed baby shower.”
“What’s that got to do with anything? I didn’t see any other husbands there making a scene!”
“I didn’t make a scene. The guy asked what I do for a living and I told him.”
“Yeah, I know, Mark, I know.” She raised her voice. “I know all about it. You told him you’re studying overpopulation and its effect on global resources. You told him your conclusion: two kids per family. Didn’t you know he and his wife have four kids?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Couldn’t you have just said you’re a scientist? I mean, why would you bring up overpopulation at a baby shower? Don’t you think maybe it’s, um, I don't know, not the best topic?”
“Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I’ll call the guy tomorrow and apologize. I certainly didn’t mean for the conversation to turn toward vasectomies.”
“Okay, fine. Just so you know I was mortified when I heard the two of you shouting all the way from the kitchen, but it’s fine, I’ll get over it.”
“Thanks Sheila.”
They took the Broad Street exit and were on their way home when he suggested they head to Chinatown for an early dinner. He agreed to stop at her favorite place rather than his, and they were on good terms once again. His fortune cookie, full of wisdom, told him there's a time to swallow pride. He thought of China’s one-child-per-family policy and decided he stood firmly against it, though he would’ve understood if the limit were set at two. He himself had always wanted at least three children, but he’d never told anyone, not even his wife.
“What did you think of the name?”
She waited a few moments before answering him. “I like it.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes before he broke it. He knew he should apologize for what happened earlier, and yet, he said, “Look, there’s no reason to have a coed baby shower.”
“What’s that got to do with anything? I didn’t see any other husbands there making a scene!”
“I didn’t make a scene. The guy asked what I do for a living and I told him.”
“Yeah, I know, Mark, I know.” She raised her voice. “I know all about it. You told him you’re studying overpopulation and its effect on global resources. You told him your conclusion: two kids per family. Didn’t you know he and his wife have four kids?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Couldn’t you have just said you’re a scientist? I mean, why would you bring up overpopulation at a baby shower? Don’t you think maybe it’s, um, I don't know, not the best topic?”
“Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I’ll call the guy tomorrow and apologize. I certainly didn’t mean for the conversation to turn toward vasectomies.”
“Okay, fine. Just so you know I was mortified when I heard the two of you shouting all the way from the kitchen, but it’s fine, I’ll get over it.”
“Thanks Sheila.”
They took the Broad Street exit and were on their way home when he suggested they head to Chinatown for an early dinner. He agreed to stop at her favorite place rather than his, and they were on good terms once again. His fortune cookie, full of wisdom, told him there's a time to swallow pride. He thought of China’s one-child-per-family policy and decided he stood firmly against it, though he would’ve understood if the limit were set at two. He himself had always wanted at least three children, but he’d never told anyone, not even his wife.
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