Fred and Annie

By Paul Milson


A few days out from Motherís Day, two young people meet and discuss what they are going to do this year (to avoid previous disasters).




Annie: Hi Fred
Fred: Hi Annie, hey guess where Iíve just been?
Annie: Where
Fred: The hospital!
Annie: Are you OK?  What happened?
Fred: Iím OK.  I was helping Dad fix the car when he asked me to pass him  the big monkey wrench.  Iíd just got home from rugby practice so I when I passed him the big monkey wrench I did my best Justin Marshall impersonation and did a beautiful spiral pass.  The trouble was that he wasnít watching so he intercepted it real well with his head.
Annie: Is your Dad okay?  Was he mad?
Fred: He wasnít too mad.  He didnít blame me.  He said ultimately it was mumís fault for wanting to have three kids instead of two Ė and he said he needed new glasses anyway.  Apparently the stitches come out in five days.
Annie: Hey, guess what Iím doing for my mum for Motherís Day tomorrow?
Annie: Iím getting her flowers!  Isnít that nice.
Fred: If youíre getting her flowers you should ask if sheís allergic to any first?
Annie: What do you mean?
Fred: Well, I got mum flowers last year.  I saw some growing by the side of the road and picked them for her.  Trouble was that I didnít know she was allergic to thistles.  When she got anywhere near them she sneezed and coughed, and then she swelled up like a balloon and got spots just about straight away.  She looked like a giant raspberry.
Annie: So she didnít like the present?
Fred: Not the flowers, but she was quite excited about the ride to hospital Ė sheíd never been in an ambulance before.  She was a bit disappointed though cos she only got to the see the ceiling.
Annie: Well, maybe Iíll make mum breakfast in bed.
Fred: Thatís a good idea, Annie, but if you do, donít cook breakfast with a blow torch.
Annie: What?
Fred: A blow torch.
Annie: A blow torch?
Fred: Well the year before Iíd tried to cook mum breakfast but I didnít know how to use the stove top, but Dad had shown me how to use to blow torch, so I took that to the kitchen and warmed the pancake mixture with that
Annie: Fred, thatís a really dumb idea!
Fred: Wow, how did you know?
Annie: Just guessing.
Fred: I started to realise it was a stupid idea when the plastic container that the mixture was in started to melt Ė and then the fireman said something similar when he was doing his investigation.
Annie: I hate to ask this, Fred, but what are you doing for Motherís Day this year?
Fred: After last motherís day, mum said it was more than enough that I just think nice things about her, but not to do anything.  So this year I wrote her a poem.
Annie: Can I hear it?
Fred: Yep, it goes like this Ė (clear throat Ė cough)
Roses are red, violets are sort of a purpley colour
This a just a poem from your wee fella
Without you looking after me, my life would be all blue
Who else could I manipulate the way I do with you?
Without you cooking all my meals, Iíd have a great big gut
Dad can only cook a steak, and order Pizza Hutt
Without you looking after me Iíd waste so much time at home
Itís so much quicker to just yell ďMumĒ than to find things on my own
Without your love and care for me, Iíd get no sympathy
I need a bandaid and a hug when I skin my knee
Without you Mum this world would be a scary place to stay
So my gift for thee is a disaster-free lovely Motherís Day
Annie: Thatís beautiful, Fred.  Iím going to write my mum a poem.
Fred: If you do, donít write it on the mumís white board using a vivid marker.
Annie: I wonít.  Bye Fred.
Fred: Bye Annie.

© Paul Milson 2002, all rights reserved
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