Mary and Daphne #165

“Mary, come look at this.”

“Do you really need me to come look, or are you laying on the bed naked,” she called back from wherever she was doing whatever she was doing. I really did need her to come look, sorta but not really but yes, but she did give me an idea for the future. Maybe one day this week I’ll need her to come look at a few things in the bedroom. Heehee!

“I need you to come look.”

My Mary usually strides or saunters or struts and once even promenaded, but it sure sounded like she was trudging up the stairs to me. “What?”

Can you believe she said that? I chose to ignore it. “Remember that snake I saw in the yard?”

“You mean do I remember hearing you shriek and running because I thought you were hurt and finding you flailing at the ground with a shovel?”

“It wasn’t a shriek; it was a battle cry, and yes to all the other stuff you said. This says there can be four hundred of these snakes to an acre. We have to move.”

“You are such a fraidy cat.”

“Ssssss!”

“Did you just hiss at me?”

“Did it bother you? Cuz imagine a couple hundred doing it!” Mary’s unimpressed face. Hmmm. “And you called me a name. Besides, you’re the one who won’t even kill her own spiders.”

“But,” she said as she advanced on me. She’s always advancing on me or making advances and stuff. “I am the one who’ll spank her wife’s butt when she gets sassy.”

“So uncalled for and hey whoa! Stop just flipping me over.”

“Make me!” And then – get this – she gave me ten rapid spanks on – get this! – my butt!!! Like, who even does that (aside from most of the women I choose to associate myself with and the one I married named Mary).

“What was that for!?!”

“Because it makes you sexually excited. Why don’t you go see your Nana for a while?”

Which is when we had the awkward silence to end all awkward silences. Normally, I’d find it very funny when Mary gets flustered for once, but the manager in charge of funny in my brain heard what Mary said and immediately walked off the job and into the ocean.

“Um, heh, what I, uh, not related … the sentences! Why don’t you just go hang out with her … if she’s home, give you something to do.”

“Maybe you take a nap while I’m gone,” I said to Miss Mary Malaprop while giving her the sidey-est side eye ever. “Is everything okay? You came upstairs a little grumpy.”

“I hate doing taxes.”

“You’ll like it more when we get the refund check.”

I had offered to do them, and Mary patted me on the head and said she really appreciated the offer but it’s a grownup job. Then she said my job was to be smol, play with toys, and “glare at me just like you’re doing now, cutie … Yep, just like that.” Which made me blush and look away, and she snickered at me! The nerve this woman has on her! By Jove, I like her and stuff (and her things too). I’d have insisted, but I don’t like doing taxes either.

“What if instead of going to Nana’s I take a nap with you? I’ll be the big spoon, and don’t you tell me I’m too little for it.” I preempted that whole thing. She’d probably never say I was too little ever again. Really.

“I’m almost done. Scoot.” And there she went swatting my butt again. “Are your pull-ups still dry?”

“It’s a ‘pull-up,’ Mary. Up. I’m only wearing one. Don’t make it worse than it is.”

“Speaking of grumpy butts.”

“Am not. I just don’t like snakes.”

“They’re the size of a pencil.”

“They’re snakes … We should buy a mongoose. Or mongeese.” Mongooses?

“Yeah, that’s a thing that’s gonna happen,” she said to me. I was halfway out the door when she said, “Wait. Gimme a kiss.”

Which I did and I liked it and I had that Katy Perry song stuck in my head for a half hour after.

I headed to Nana’s back door cuz we’re familiar like that and was pleased to find her in her yard getting her garden ready for planting. “Hi,” I said loudly enough for her to hear me over her headphones.

“Hiya. Was that you screaming earlier?”

“It was a battle cry, and yes.” I’ll own it. I have nothing to be embarrassed about.

“What on earth was Mary doing to you?”

“Nothing,” I snootily answered back. I was a little offended. I don’t think I’ve ever carried on that way cuz of anything Mary has ever done … I think. She’s done a lot of stuff to me, some of the best parts fuzzy in my memory. And how did Nana get to be someone who just assumes we’re up to kinky stuff or that I’m in trouble all the time? We’ve done nothing to give her that impression. Really. Were actually quite normal and vanilla and private. Um … really.

“I saw a snake,” I informed her.

“O. You don’t like snakes?”

“Not even a little.”

“What kind was it?”

“A ring-neck, according to the interwebs.”

“All that screaming for one of those little things?”

“It was a battle cry, and a small snake is not not a snake. I’m ready to move, but if we have to disclose we have snakes I don’t think we’ll get much for our house.” I know we wouldn’t have to disclose that, but I’m just saying. Do you wanna buy a snake house? If the answer is yes, we can’t be friends.

“You’re so dramatic,” she teased me. I could tell cuz she winked. I can’t wink, at least not without looking like something unpleasant just happened to me. Is being able to wink genetic, like rolling your tongue? Cuz that I do. This one time at band camp … anyhoo, back to the subject at hand.

“They’re serpents.” Go read some literature and see how civilizations stretching back to the very beginning feel about serpents. The apple was just one of their many misdeeds.

“They eat pests.”

“They are a pest! I’d rather have a mouse than a snake. At least the mouse is a mammal.” Like me. Small, cute, soft, which taken together is I guess what smol means; and vulnerable to the predations of predators (named Mary) who are always threatening to pounce, swoop down, strike, or bite. I’m not sure which of those is my favorite.

“You wanna help me?”

“Yes please. Be right back.” I ducked back into my yard and emerged with my trusty pitchfork. I’d left it out. Good thing Mary isn’t terribly interested in gardening and outdoor chores, or I’d probably get a lecture about taking care of my tools as prelude to getting my butt beat with the garden hose (which really happened once, but I don’t think I could do it now; o, to be young again).

“So what’s happening in your life, Daffy?”

“Spring,” I said as I helped her spread mulch. “Being outside and planting stuff. You really started something.”

“How’s that?”

“I used to think I hated gardening, and then I helped you plant tulip bulbs and you offered to help with our garden, and now I spend all winter looking forward to it.”

“It’s fun making things grow, isn’t it? Are you planting anything special this year?”

“The plan is to plant more berries. I planted two blueberry bushes last year and got exactly three berries.” They were very good. I figure if I spend another eighty dollars on berry bushes I could have enough to top a (very small) bowl of ice cream. Won’t that be fun? Heehee!

“And I learned my lesson last year about vegetables,” I added.

“Figured out a better way to plant them?”

“Figured out not to plant them at all. We had so many, and Mary insisted we actually eat them.” Something dumb about them being healthy for us. I just grew them cuz I like making stuff grow. But Mary was all about actually eating them, and that led to our then-latest disagreement about the importance of eating vegetables, which led me remind Mary she’s not in charge of what I put in my body, which led to Mary making her wanna-bet face and reminding me she’s in charge of me, which led to her not letting me have dessert for a week.

But because I am an agent of my down destiny, Mary not lettingme have dessert isn’t the same as me not having dessert. When Mary discovered my perfidy (her word; I prefer ‘civil disobedience’), she reminded me she can’t make me do anything but that she can make me wish I had. Long story short, got spanked, dessert prohibition was extended another week minimum and remained in effect until I asked her to spank me (again) with the bathbrush. And lemme tell you something – turns out I like dessert more than I hate that bathbrush, so it’s not like I wasted time in asking for it.  Of course, Mary put her thumb on the scale and arrived home that afternoon with a cake from a bakery and was o so ready to remind me I couldn’t have any until I asked for my spanking. If only she put her genius into being good instead of wicked.

“You come up with more ways to get yourself into trouble,” Nana said.

Aw crap, did I really just tell that story to Nana?

“It’s not my fault Mary cares more about my health than my hedonism.” And she really likes certain aspects of my hedonism, so imagine how much she cares about my health and stuff.

“Ya know,” I said for no particular reason, “if you were my real nana, I’d expect to be spoiled with cookies and cake and candy when I come over.” Cookies, cake, and candy: three of the four Cs I love to get my lips around. The other one is … anyhoo …

“If you were really my granddaughter, I wouldn’t tell Mary you said that.”

“You’re not gonna tell her.” Nice try, Nana, but not fooling me for a second.

“I know how hard she works to keep you on the straight and narrow. I don’t mind giving her a hand.”

“Mary doesn’t know anything about keeping anyone straight.” True. Story.

“Hahahaha! Very smoothly done.”

“Thank you.”

We kept working for a bit and were interrupted by someone tall and brunette calling, “Hello,” over the fence.

“We’re here,” I called back. And then there was Mary looking much happier than when I saw her last, which is just kinda the best! When she’s happy, I’m happy (cuz we love each other; wistful sigh …)

“Hi, Mae,” Mary politely greeted Nana.

“You look happier,” I said before Nana could respond.

“Cuz I’m done.”

“Are we getting any money back?”

“Nope. We owe a little.”

“Then why do you look so happy?”

“Cuz I’m done. I was doing our taxes,” Mary explained to Nana.

“Can I get you something,” Nana asked. “We were just about done too.”

“Only if it’s no trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. Have a seat, and I’ll bring out some lemonade,” Nana said.

I waited for her to disappear in the house and quietly asked Mary, “Do all grandmas always have a pitcher of lemonade ready or just the one who lives next to us?” Nana always has a pitcher of lemonade ready.

“Maybe she just likes lemonade. Hee!”

“What ‘hee’? What’d I miss?”

“You.”

O my gosh, she’s doing that thing where she puts her hands around my waist and looks at me with that derpy smile on her face. Whereas I am derpy by default but hide it well (What? Really), Mary is at her derpiest when she’s looking at me all derpy and with the fawning eyes like I’m something very precious. Hot damn but I like her.

“What about me?” I wasn’t fishing for compliments; I was just curious. Play it cool, Daphne. No one likes it when ya just throw it at ‘em. That’s actually not true of course; Mary kinda sorta definitely likes it when I’m so thirsty it’s near a medical condition (which sometimes triggers her orgasm denial kink, and then it really does turn into a whole situation).

“You’re dirty,” is what she told me. Like, wow, just straight up reading my mind.

“I’m not any dirtier than you, ya big perv.” One of these days, I’m going to seek out an expert on being a brat and ask them how to do it cuz I don’t know how. Really.

“Silly goose, I meant you’re dirty. You got a smudge on your face, and you’re sweaty and you smell like yard.”

“Lemonade and cookies,” Nana called from the patio, but we were busy.

“And you like it when I’m dirty?”

“Mhmm. I like it on a warm day when my little girl comes in from playing hard. Makes you look so wholesome, like my own real life Raggedy Daphne Ann.”

“I’m not gonna take offense at being called ‘raggedy’ cuz I know you didn’t choose that word.”

“You even have the same hair color. You look like you’ve been having young adult adventures and need me to put you in the tub and scrub you clean.”

I’m not blushing! You’re blushing!

“Our host has cookies,” I reminded her cuz we were borderline being rude, but also reminded myself cuz anything short of a cookie wouldn’t have gotten me to go over to the patio instead of standing in my Mary’s arms being adored. I’d work on her choice of comparison later, but just then we were busy being all gay and held hands to the patio. And yes to the bath thing later. Mary’s soapy hands all over me … Send a shudder down my spine just thinking about it.

“Do you have any plans for the summer yet,” Mary asked Nana.

“I’m going to the beach for a week with my son and his family, and then I’m staying and my friends are meeting me for another week. Other than that, just the regular things.”

I wish I had friends to go to the beach with for a week. I mean, I do, but since they work and I don’t, my schedule is a smidge more open than theirs. They can’t take a vacation with their family and another one with me, unfortunately.

“What about you,” Nana asked.

“We’ve got big plans. We’re taking a trip to the lake for a week, and we’ll probably take a few long weekends, and I’m making a summer reading list for Daffy.”

“You are,” I asked. I like reading. Hope it’s mostly erotica because reasons.

“That’s a good idea. Maybe we can make a little book club. What did you have in mind for her?”

“Age-appropriate things,” Mary smirked. I think she was trying to make a point or something. If she’s not careful, she’s gonna wake up one of these days and find me giving her a very dirty look. That’ll fix her wagon. Mary continued, cuz she’s always continuing, “Anne of Green Gables, Pippi Longstocking, Ramona, and Harriet the Spy.”

“Why those,” I asked.

“Cuz they’re all about quirky little girls who get into adventures like you.”

“I’m not a little girl, and I’m not quirky!” Why are they looking at me like that with the o-really expressions?I’m so normal my brother nicknamed me ‘Abby Normal’ when we were kids. Yep, that’s how he said it, I think. “And why exactly are you making me a reading list anyway?”

“Cuz you need some mental stimulation.”

True story, but “I get plenty of mental stimulation. Trying to stay ahead of you takes serious mental energy.” Physical too sometimes.

“When’s the last time you stayed ahead of me?”

I was gonna answer that with specific facts and circumstances and dates, but instead I turned to Nana and said, “See how mean she is to me?”

And Nana, bless her heart, had the temerity to reply, “My daughter loved The Babysitters Club. They’re probably still in the basement.”

“Daffy could use some help learning to babysit. I called the Red Cross, and they said she’s too old to take their babysitter certification course.”

“You did not.” Which is when she looked at me with her maybe-I-did-maybe-I-didn’t face. “Anyway, I read lots.” I’m very well read, actually. Hence my erudition and comfort breaking all the grammar rules whenever I heccin want. At the rate I’m going, there’s gonna be more words in my computer’s dictionary that I made up than there are words it came with. Might take a million years, but I’ll get there. We she-gods are eternal and stuff.

“Not as much as you used to.”

That’s actually true. “These modern times killed my attention span.”

“So some easy books will be perfect. And you’d better read them cuz there will be quizzes.”

“You’re gonna make quizzes?” and btw, Nana was still there, of course, probably thinking we’re more entertaining than any of the weirdness on daytime talk shows. Not that we’re weird. Quite normal. Really.

“I got them online. There’s all sort of learning aids online these days to help teach little girls.” And then – get this nonsense – she poked me in my side where I’m ticklish. I only a flinched a little.

“Fine,” I said to her. I’ll read her stupid books. Maybe they’ll even give me ideas for new ways to misbehave. Like … surveilling people. That’s what Harriet the Spy does, right? Or is that just peeping when you’re an adult? Maybe I’ll just peep at Mary. That’s allowed, most of the time.

We munched cookies and kept chatting, and yes, they did that thing where they talk about me like I’m not there for a bit, but at least neither of them saw me rolling my eyes.

“Ready to go home and get cleaned up,” Mary asked me.

“Sure.”

“Thanks for helping me,” Nana said to me.

“Anytime. Thanks for getting me into gardening.”

No idea if Nana saw Mary goose me on our way back to our own yard, but I’m positive she couldn’t have heard Mary whisper, “Let’s get you into the tub. Is your pull-up still dry?”

“It’s sweaty and gross, actually.”

“O sure, it’s just sweat.”

“It is!”

“Mhmm.”

“Mary, it is.”

“Of course. Whatever you say, silly goose.”

“Can I be a silly mongoose instead?”

“Nope. You’re too little.”

“Marrrry!”

“Cutie.”

“Meanie.”