╟╣ How about a little story that incorporates these phrases….?
2. When I was growing up, I had Sister Mary Shovel Face in school… you get Sister Maria from The Sound of Music.
3. Ma,he’s making eyes at me.
4. I’ll be your tootsie wootsie.
5. Probably one of THE worst Ben & Jerry’s flavors ever.
6. Can you run that by me, again?
7. Hee Haw ……I love you, baby!
Favorite Answer
“Am not.”, I chirped, abruptly assuming a perfectly erect posture in my own seat, hands politely folded in my own lap before Mom had any chance to get a glance in the rearview mirror of what was really going on.
I had long ago figured the precise amount of time I had between Carlie’s first, “Ma, …ba-ba-blah-blah-blah…” bellyache and when Mom could adjust the mirror to get a closer look at what we were up to. Got caught once, in the early stages; never since. Too, fast. Too, smart. Too, dang GOOD!
“If you two don’t shape up, I swear…”, Mom threatened mominously.
Mom always swore, …but she never said a swear word. Mom’s warnings ALWAYS ended with, “…I swear…” Sometimes feeble little gurgles and unintelligible mutterings followed, but nothing ever to worry about. I wasn’t listening anymore after, “…I swear…” ..O.K., I stopped listening after, “If…”, because it never mattered what Mom said. If you don’t get caught red-handed, then …pffft! There’s only the two of us, me and Carlie, so it comes down to a matter of, “he-said/she-said”. After that, deny, deny, deny. Just like all the cops and lawyer shows. Make ‘em prove it. Mom was no lawyer, but I never got convicted on the testimony of only ONE eyewitness.
I watched as Mom readjusted the mirror to its proper position for driving. Then, to soothe my sister’s perturbation… (Yeah, right. Like I care.) …I leaned against her shoulder craned my head and neck to a suitably gawky and certainly irritating angle and with a pouty lower lip cooed, “I’ll be your tootsie wootsie.”
“I begged you to get therapy.”, pleaded Carlie angrily under her (stinking) breath and then continued as I batted my eyes not so innocently, “Ma, now he’s getting incestuous!”
“Close, but no cigar!”, I whispered triumphantly to Miss Gnarly Carlie McSquarrley Pants, as I kept a close eye on Mom’s mirror-movements.
With a quick twitch I was back in place and in a sheepishly astonished tone I protested, “Eeeew. A-a-a-a-m NOT!”
“CARLIE PATSY LEWIS!!” (My sister was named after my mom’s two favorite singers …Carl Perkins and Pat Boone.) “I know you don’t know what you are saying, but I don’t want to hear…”, Mom droned at first in absolute horror that faded to her familiar resignation as my sister and I began the “Did to – Did not – Did to – Did Not – TO – NOT – TO – NOT” Tango.
Our little dance was interrupted mid-Cadencia.
“Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!! Both of you. Right now!”, demanded Mom in abject frustration.
In full view, Mom leaning into the back seat, but Carlie’s head conveniently shielding mine, I decided to take a calculated risk. The payoff would be worth it. With my mouth right by my sister’s ear, that was attached to her head, which was between me and my mom, I gently whispered, “Hee Haw …I love you, baby.”
SMACK! The intended affect was achieved when Carlie wacked me in the head …a little harder than I was anticipating. But, hey, it was Carlie. And, it was worth it! (I thought.)
Mom blinked blankly and gasped audibly.
“Carlie. O.K., that does it. I was just about to turn this car around. But, now my mind is definitely made up. I’m taking YOU, Missy, to The St. Francis of Assisi School for Incorrigible Butthead Children. (I added the …for Incorrigible Butthead Children in honor of Carlie. It was the least I could do. …When we get there, I might even suggest they actually change the school name.)
With Carlie’s fate now firmly sealed, I was dreaming of all the perks that would be mine as the one-and-ONLY child at home. KING of the roost! Carlie had been an inconvenient, but mostly ineffective, watch dog. Every time Carlie warned, “I’m tellimg Mom. …I’m telling Dad.”, I conveniently started crying when either showed up and blamed Carlie, and SHE got in trouble. “I’m telling Mom. …I’m telling Dad.”, I mocked silently, imitating the yammering scowl that always accompanied the words as I absentmindedly looked out the car window.
“Mom, STOP!”, I ordered in a flash. “We need to go here. I want to get something for Carlie before, before, …you know, …she goes.”
Mom dutifully applied the breaks and peered up through the windshield at the sign for the location of my surprised interest.
“Well…”, Mom considered cautiously. “I guess it would be alright. But, we do need to hurry, dear.”
I weedled ten bucks from Mom, went in the store, and bought treats for all of us.
“Here ya go, Mom, Carmel Cashew. An’ I got Double Fudge Brownie. ….A-a-a-a-and, this one’s for Carlie!”, I prated happily.
I must admit the rich purple color of Carlie’s cone was delicious in appearance, but probably one of THE worst Ben & Jerry’s flavor’s ever. …Ooooo, I could scarcely contain a sniggle as Carlie took an unexpectedly large, wide-eyed with delight bite of her cone.
“Ack …ack …uck!”, gagged Carlie mouth agape, face squinched with a large melting lump of purple squimmering on her tongue while she confusedly tried to figure what, where, how to dispose of the seeping pile that was beginning to droodle down her chin, neck, and most disgustingly down her throat.
“Wha …wha ih ih? Wha ih …pl …pl …fl …it?!”, she asked plaintively as a violent violet glob exited her mouth and into Mom’s now empty cup that was in the war zone as she had turned her complete attention on us. “It tasted like …like an old tire, …or something…”, Carlie fixed a hair-risen stare on me and carried on. “…something you scraped off THE FLOOR! Jeffrey! Did you get this off…”
“What? …What?!”, I deflected. “The Scoop Dude said it was his favorite blend.”, I asserted (lied). “It’s Lishorsumthinin withWatsamalman Eyes.”, I mumbled disingenuously staring at and licking my own deluscious double fudgy, fudge, chocolate, mmm.
“Can you run that by me, again?”, wondered Mom suspiciously.
“Licorice with …Watermelon Ice.”, I confessed, the guilt plainly evident on my face while I kept on enjoying the flavorishiousness in my own hand.
“Right.” Mom didn’t say another word. She just whipped my cone right off my tongue with one hand, pinched Carlie’s with the other, threw both… opened the car window, threw both out to the parking lot (with disgusted emphasis), then calmly started the car.
I knew I was in trouble. Mom pulled out her cell phone and was now enrolling me in The St. Francis of Assisi School for Stupid Mistake Makers/Last Straw Takers.
It was a quiet ride to The St. Francis of Assisi School for the Misbegotten Children of Exasperated Parents. As we pulled into the tree lined circle leading to the front steps of the imposing church and schoolyard, I was impressed by the gargoyle sentinels atop the portico. “Nice touch!”, I thought sincerely impressed. “With all the wee-beasty on the roof, maybe this won’t be so bad after all.”, I inwardly considered.
We mounted the steps leading up to what was unmistakeably a very solid front door that was filled with intricate religious carvings. “Man…”, I marveled, “…somebody is a wicked good whittler around here. Wonder if they teach you that kind of stuff.” Thinking about the knife needed for the task, I guessed that I was going to have to find some other way to have some fun and remembered optimistically that, at least, Carlie was still going to be around.
The hallway to the school offices was long, dimly lit, but well-appointed with cushy chairs, tables, artwork and other …stuff …that looked well over a hundred years old. Standing at the end of the hall, illuminated by a multi-colored shaft of bright light streaming through yet another confusing image of something I was sure was very important (to someone other than me), stood an petite, cherub-faced, clean and prim, smiling angel of a young woman/nun.
“Oh, great.”, deadpanned Mom. “When I was growing up, I had Sister Larry Shovel Face in school… you get Sister Maria from The Sound of Music.”
“Oh, my, no.”, beamed the overeager nun/woman. “You must be thinking of Mother Superior. Wait. Oh, dear. That didn’t come out right. …But, it was funny!”, she squeaked timidly. “I’m just an Aspirant. You can call me…”, another semi-squelched titter,”…Maria. Mother Superior is expecting you.”
Maria made sure we were ahead of her in ushering us to a door on her left. As Mom opened it to reveal the first slit of what was beyond, Maria was already halfway down the hallway running in her heart but skittishly quick-marching all stiff-legged/armed giving the unmistakable impression these halls were made for walking only and there was surely swift punishment for those who were foolish enough to disobey …or innocently forget.
“Come in, Mrs. Lewis.”, bellowed Mother Superior as he reached a Larry Shovel Face sized hand across the desk to point out three waiting chairs. “Please. SIT DOWN!”, he barked at me with an invitation to us all. I flinched. (O.K., I jumped) And, knocked a small statue of who-knows-what from the corner of Sister Larr… I mean, Mother Superior’s brawny desk. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mother Shovel… SUPERIOR’s eye’s widen and his unibrow undulate, a large looming cloud of fury about to burst across his …face. But, with a concentration born of earnest desperation I was able to catch the statue after only one wobble. In relief at saving the statue, and my behind, I momentarily lost the necessary concentration to put the statue solidly upright back in its place. As I took my hand away it teetered once, this way, twice, that way. I grabbed, but only succeeded in propelling it further away from me. With visions of torture only possible in the black habited heart of a superior mother I lunged as far across the expansive desktop as physically possible for me small as I was. Fortunately, my lunge-path was completely clear of any other hazards. Double fortunately, I was able to grasp the bottom half of the figurine as it was about to topple off the other side of the desk. Triple fortunately, Mother Superior grabbed the top half at the same time. The only unfortunate element of this last ditch save was that I released my hold at the same moment Mother Superior let go of his as we both thought the other was securely in control of the precious object. (Actually, in all the grabbing Mother Superior’s hand brushed mine and I just reacted/retracted.) It fell onto Mother Superior’s orthopedic, steel-toed, combat boot …and shattered.
Instinctively, I bolted into my best “I know/said/did nothing” posture in my appointed chair. Mother Superior just grinned sardonically (…as if I knew what that meant). After a moment/lifetime, he reached for something that seemed to be hanging on his side of the desk and retracted what I could now see was one of those long, wooden stick thingys with a rubber pointy tip that teachers use to point at the chalkboard to get your attention. Mother Superior pointed his stick at me, …firmly in my chest, …pinning me to my chair. He began scraping statue shards with his shoe/boot while alternating glances at his task, …at me, …at the wreckage, …at me. When the precious object’s remains were finally collected in a pile under his desk, Mother Superior gave me one last poke with his pointer and barked, “STAY!” As he slowly pulled the pointer back to its ready position, he feigned a final, final stab intended purely to make me twitch which I did.
Straightening his habit, Mother Superior gently pointed to a sweetfaced, oddly angelic sister sitting …quavering …rocking back-and-forth opposite Carlie. “This…”, he bellowed, “…is Sister Saccarina. She will be RESPONSIBLE for your Carlie.”
Sister Saccarina shuddered involuntarily at the mention of her name and I thought I heard her quietly say, “…I didn’t do it…”, amidst her otherwise unintelligible mumblings. She nervously tugged at various body parts and articles of clothing staring obliviously at nothing and no one in between fumbling with her rosary that, if she were saying the requisite prayers, she would have gained entry to heaven for about 50 or more lost souls in the short minutes we had been there with her at Mother Superior’s desk. Sister Saccarina, looked like a VERY easy touch. I thought Carlie would surely have an undeserved soft ride with her. …But, that was quickly eclipsed as I was already scheming about the possible “interactions” I might have with Sister Saccarina.
During all this time in Mother Superior’s office I couldn’t help noticing with some slightly odd discomfort from glimpse-to-glimpse, the Father figure across from me .
“And, THIS…”, shrieked Mother Superior gesturing to the Father figure, “…is Father Clausett-Quinn!” The Father figure pursed his lips and with a cute bunny rabbit twiddle of his nose gave a little wiggly-fingered wave in my direction.
At the creepy twiddle/wiggle from Father Clausett-Quinn, I nervously reached for Mom’s sleeve and pulled her ear closer while I fixed my gaze on the Father figure and whispered anxiously, “Ma, he’s making eyes at me!”
“You see, it all began when I was a little kid. Remember, 2. when I was growing up, I had Sister Mary Shovel Face in school… you get Sister Maria from The Sound of Music. After all, the girls, like you, always got the sweet nuns – and we guys were left with the demons in disguise!”
I laughed. “Yeah, well, you guys deserved them, didn’t you?! Lord, you were a royal mess back then. But what does that have to do with THIS case?”
“OK, well, ever since then, I’ve had this AWFUL fear and hatred of all things black and white. Zebras, cop cars, head waiters, penguins – oh, especially penguins! Don’t even GET me started on the penguins!”
“Hey, hey, calm down, silly. Geez, you know, 1. I begged you to get therapy for that, even back then.”
“Sure, I know – and I TRIED, but the stupid therapists just DON’T understand. And don’t even ASK about my social life. I mean, the LAST time I tried going out on a date, the girl wore a black skirt and white blouse – and I threw a bug-eyed seizure right then and there! She just screamed and yelled: 3. Ma,he’s making eyes at me, and her mom came in and beat me with an umbrella. A black and white one, of course. UGH!”
“Fine,” I said, trying to steer things back on track, “but WHAT does this have to do with my case? The B&J case?”
“I’m getting there, honest. You see, finally, I went to Ben & Jerry’s to get a job. I figured, all the time with all those nice, colorful flavors, the quiet, the cold. What could be better, right? Safe and sound, at last. But NO – the stupid R&D department has to start experimenting with new flavors. And WHAT do they come up with? 5. Probably one of THE worst Ben & Jerry’s flavors ever! Licorice and vanilla – called Tootsie Wootsie. Give me a break! I took ONE look at all that ooey-gooey black and white and black and white and . . . AAAAAHHHHH!!!! I started screaming 4. I’ll be your tootsie wootsie, 4. I’ll be your tootsie wootsie, just watch ME be your tootsie wootsie!!! And that was when I opened every single one of the ice cream blenders and watched ALL those lovely flavors pouring out, all over the floor, all mixed together, creeping up and up and up – until the whole plant shorted out and shut down. That’s when they dragged me in here to you.”
I couldn’t help myself; the image of my old, dear friend in knee-deep half-frozen mush was just too much for me.
“7. Hee Haw ……I love you, baby!” I guffawed, unable to restrain myself any longer. “Now, 6. Can you run that by me, again? Just one more time, so I can write it all down for the psych report. I think THIS time, you may be taking a long rest someplace – quiet and calm, maybe.”
Dejected, he simply shrugged his shoulders. “As long as I don’t have to wear a set of black and white striped overalls, I really DON’T care. Take me away.”
“Who loves ya, baby?” asked Kojak.
“Hee Haw… I love you, baby!” answered Miss Kitty.
“Can you run that by me again?” asked Kojak.
“Hee Haw… I love you, baby!” she repeated. She licked her spoon. “Probably one of THE worst Ben & Jerry’s flavors ever, but I’ll be your tootsie wootsie anyway.”
A woman and her son passed by. The boy stared rudely at Kojak’s bald pate. Kojak returned the stare.
“Ma, he’s making eyes at me,” said the kid.
“I begged you to get therapy,” said the woman to her son. The pair rushed past.
Miss Kitty broke out in song. “The hills are alive, with the sound of music!” she sang.
“When I was growing up, I had Sister Mary Shovel Face in school… you get Sister Maria from The Sound of Music.” responded Kojak.
