As the legend goes….
Felecia woke up in a new mood. It had left an indescribable taste in her mouth. She rinsed it with a swig of yesterday’s coffee. She didn’t even want to look at the living room, so she kept her eyes down as she started a new pot. Caesar, the lab mix, groaned deeper into the floor, as if the hardwood had become his own pillow top.
You look like you are hanging hard too, you party dog.
Once the percolated potency settled her nerves to the new day, she stepped outside. She inhaled the dew, while a picture surfaced from the moldy depths of her mind. Exhaling a few giggles, she rubbed her temples.
Did I, really?
Her memories came to her in strings. She remembered her friend Peaches bringing over some wine called Mad Housewife. Of course Peaches danced around chanting, “Beware! The spirit of The Mad Housewife may consume you!” Felecia remembered dancing, too… and she twirled something… someone’s knit hat. Felecia giggled into her coffee.
Oh yeah, it landed in the fondue.
After half a pot, Felecia had enough caffeine to confront any war. Stepping into the living room, something stopped her. The usual beer bottle collection decorated the tables. It wasn’t that. The fondue didn’t look right.
There’s something in that fondue and it’s not a hat.
She called the dog. The fearless protector rolled himself up. He then waddled to Felecia, his belly dusting a clean path.
It’s just immoral to mix certain breeds.
Caesar ignored Felecia’s thoughts and went to the cheese bowl. With loud snorts, he mucked-up the splatters on the floor, as this was the job he knew. Even with Caesar there the thing did not move. From her strategic position, she threw a beer cap at it. It still did not move.
Well it’s not alive. Felecia went to the bowl and poked it.
Oh for all that is right in this world!
She knew what it was… The spirit of the mad Housewife got her good. She held her breath.
It was a toupee. A cheese covered toupee.
She dropped it back into the cheese. Blood rushed to her sense. The possibilities carried a years worth of guilt.
Some poor bald guy left her house with a naked head. In front of her own Judge and jury she pleaded. Your honor, it wasn’t my fault. The spirit of the Mad Housewife had consumed me.