StoryRhyme After Dark: The Vacation
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By Harry Buschman
“If you’d only try to see it my way, George. I know it’s hard for you, but just because you see it your way, doesn’t mean there’s no other way to do it.”
George is hard to convince, especially with the relentless reasoning of his wife Mildred. From a lifetime of looking in one direction he is very reluctant to change his point of view. Mildred, on the other hand, looks at all sides of every situation -- so many sides in fact, that she rarely reaches a conclusion. The most minor and basic decisions are delicately viewed from all angles.
Their daughter, Angela, (and what an inappropriate name for the black-hearted wench she has turned out to be) is of marriageable age and is searching for the path of least resistance -- particularly where men are concerned.
When the three of them go out together there is hell to pay. George starts off in one direction and Mildred, putting a restraining hand on his arm, tells him to hold up... Think it over... There may be a better way. Angela, ignoring both of them, takes a path where she can expose herself to the most eligible men. The three of them rarely achieve their goal. It would have been better if they stayed home. The simple, direct route George blundered into has led to quicksand. Mildred’s painstakingly circuitous path led back on itself and Angela’s primrose path was lined with thorns.
When vacation time rolled around last year, George set his sights on Lake Mudd. “We can camp out,” he said. “I can do some trout fishing. We can rent a cabin. Watch the sun come up... It’ll be fun for everybody.” He watched his daughter roll her eyes. “C’mon Angela, it’ll put color back in your cheeks.”
His wife objected. “Now wait, George... I’ve got some brochures here. Epcot Center. Here’s Las Vegas... And look, Irish castles. I’ve always wanted to have my breakfast in an Irish Castle.”
Angela brightened at the mention of ‘Las Vegas,’ thinking perhaps she might find herself a high roller there, or at least somebody who wouldn’t be caught dead in Mudd Lake. “Oh Gee! The Strip! Bette Midler! Donny and Marie! That’s for me, Ma! Can we? Ma, can we?”
“Well, I don’t know. Lake Mead is near by, I suppose your father can fish in Lake Mead. But then... What will I do? I’m not sure I’d be at home on the strip.” She looked longingly at the Irish castle brochure. “I really had my heart set on the Irish Castles.”
At that precise moment the phone rang.
George answered it... “Hello. Oh hi... Yeah she’s here.” He handed the phone to Mildred. “Here, it’s your mother.”
Mildred fixed her face in a smile. “Mother, how nice. How are things with you? You’re what, Mother? When Mother? Both you and Daddy..? When? Oh how nice... It’s been ages. Yes, it’ll be fine... We’ll all be here. That’s the very day George begins his vacation.”
Angela turned to her father “There.” she said. “That’ll put the color back in your cheeks.”
(c) 2011 Harry Buschman