Writer's Workshop: Tiny Cowboy Rides Again

Friends are on their way to your house for a coffee date...what kind of afternoon can they expect with you?
(I changed this so that I could tell you about the last coffee date I had with a friend. )

    Today I dropped by one of my Podunk besties' (Yes! Little, ole, antisocial me, has friends.) house to return her casserole dish. She was kind enough to provide my fam with a tasty, tasty casserole, for dinner, while the kids were sick and the Hubby was away. In fact, we had LOTS of yummy dinners delivered. Hmm... maybe the kids need to get sick more often? But in the middle of our chat we were abruptly interrupted.
   
     My girlfriend has a lovely home with a large window in her living room giving her an expansive view of her picturesque neighborhood. We were enjoying a cozy chat when a look of panic crossed my friends face. Before I could ask her what I'd said or done was wrong she urgently whispered, "We have to go to the kitchen. NOW!" Before I could utter a word of confusion she had me by the hand and was dragging me into her kitchen.
     Once we were squashed in the furthest recess from the front door, I asked what was going on. I was violently shushed and then heard a knock at the door. I looked pointedly at my friend and then asked, "Are you going to answer that?" "No! Quiet!" As I wondered if my girlfriend was, in fact, a wanted felon or a former mob wife, she peeked around the corner of her kitchen and slinked along the wall towards the front door. After checking out the peephole and then slowly making her way behind her drapes to look covertly around her neighborhood she said, "Ok. I think she's gone. You can come sit down. Would you like something to drink?"
     My look of utter confusion must have spoken volumes because she released a great sigh and slumped into her chair with an embarrassed look on her face. She then told me a tale of a neighbor of hers that made my hair stand on end. This woman was the pariah of the neighborhood. She notoriously over-shared details that made everyone, not just uncomfortable but feel downright dirty. Her child was a whiny bully to all of the neighborhood children and her husband wore a cowboy hat and boots with shorts. Yes, I had inadvertently wandered into Tiny Cowboy's neighborhood!
     My friend giggled nervously and said, "You must think I'm the most horrible person in the world. But if you just knew this family! I mean she sucks you in with her smile and friendliness and the next thing you know she's telling you about her menstrual cycle and her yeast infections! PLURAL! And her HUSBAND. He's arrogant and rude and.... What the hell is up with those boots? Where the hell does he think we live? The Outback? I mean these houses barely have YARDS, for Christ's sake."
     At this point she continued to rant and ramble for the next five minutes. I let her, because I could tell she desperately needed to vent. When she finally stopped, mostly because I think she realized that she hadn't stopped talking for several minutes, she looked at me sheepishly and apologized  At this point I laughed and told her that I was well acquainted with Tiny Cowboy and his family. I, in turn, regaled her with my tale of a play date from hell and a meal spent watching Tiny Cowboy slather bean dip on everything he ate from veggies to fruit, to a cold cut sandwich and a homemade shortcake biscuit. (Because he was HIGHLY allergic to strawberries, blueberries and raspberries. And he was more than a little indignant that I didn't know this.)
     By the end of our little gab fest, my makeup was smeared and my mascara running from the tears of laughter. My sides ached and I think both of us were relieved to get all of this off our chests. It proved to be the most cathartic cup of coffee I've ever had.

Check out the entire Tiny Cowboy series!
Social Media: I have a stalker(s)...
I'm Sorry, But Can We Pretend We've Never Met?
Avoidance, Thy Name is Mommy!

Peace Out!
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This post was inspired by Mama Kat's Pretty Much World Famous Writing Workshop. Pin It
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All images and written work, found herein, is the sole property of Rebecca Burton and may not be used in any capacity without express written consent.