08 September 2018
Story #926
R. Linda:
Well, here's a tale for you. Let's start with Anne Marie DelVecchio, not her real name, but a suitable pseudonym, and I apologise to any actual Anne Marie DelVecchios out there. It all came down, as the millennials say, to a birthday party for Anne Marie. Before I step further down the story, let me preface this by saying, Anne Marie is a wee bit of a control freak; she even had to take her own birthday celebration in hand and organise it to the last. Her husband, Dominic (not his real name), decided after ten years of marriage not to interfere. This year, Anne Marie was turning 36, and at that age, you'd think Anne Marie had done some learning. But alas, not so much.
Anne Marie decided this year to have a small celebration with her girlfriends they all of whom are big fans of the Housewives series. They all thought of themselves as Jersey girls and that each of their important lives was deserving of a reality show. However, none knew how to go about that sort of thing, so instead, they decided among themselves that they would treat their get-togethers as if they were actually on a reality show with thousands, if not millions, of viewers.
This meant that hair, makeup, clothing, jewellery and in some cases husbands, were groomed to the nines.
"Ey, we should all look like rich bitches." Carmella Cignarella announced when this idea was being bandied around.
"Yeh, we should have our nails done and stuff and even have one of us film each episode on our cell phone." This said by Loi DelCampo.
"I like it, let's do that, girls, we deserve it." Anne Marie stated, and that was the beginning.
So, when it came to Anne Marie's birthday, she decided to spend it with her "showmates," as she called them; the family could wait. First, she wanted a big bash with the girls, and she'd worry about her kids, husband and family later. So she got everything together, and it was decided they'd have this bash not in a restaurant but at Anne Marie's house.
Ah the house, the house was this split level affair built in the 1970s and from the outside it was no great digs but holy cow the inside was decked out in red wall paper, the wood painted gilt gold, large reproduction cardboard paintings of fruit and flowers on the flocked walls in gold frames, of course. The furniture was in red velvets, black velvet drapes, and lots of plump velvet throw pillows with glitzy fringe; it looked like a bordello. But to the "girls," it was the height of elegant living.
So the scene be set if you will, canapes and sandwiches with all the trimmings, lots of wine, red, white, rose', and plenty of bejewelled and coiffed to the hilt women ready to party on. Things went rosy the whole way through, not a hitch in the entertainment, which consisted of a Magic Mike performance by three dudes from the dancing school down the road. Oh yeah, the ladies were in stripper heaven.
The champagne flowed, the laughter grew boisterous and more frequent, the voices grew louder, and you could say they were all floating on wine by the time the cake was ready to be served and the presents were opened.
If you were there, you'd say these chicks were high on themselves and the acting was quite something to behold, with one of them pretending to get angry and pull the tablecloth out from under the plates of the others. Crockery and food went everywhere, but this shenanigan was expected, and the glitter dresses were saved when Rosie Klunghoffer announced she didn't need any "stinkin' cake," the cue for everyone to back away from the table. Once this manoeuvre was pulled off (in this case not very well), Dominique Dubois tore off her dress and in her silk undies lay down in the pate and cocktail sauce to roll around like a poodle. What brought that on, one can only surmise or dismiss as nothing more than Dominique's ego, wanting to show off the 20 pounds she dropped in her Victoria's Secret underwear.
But wait, it gets even better (well, not better, more bizarre, and not a little scary, if not tragic). Once they pulled Dominque off the floor and towel her down, they had another round of champagne. I'd like to say Dominque wasn't standing around in her underwear, but she was, towel turbaned on her head, chandelier earrings winking in the bright lights. After a few more glasses of the bubbly stuff, Carmella wanted cake because she was "starting" to feel woozy. Starting? Yeah, well, that's what she said. Everyone chimed in, and they sat back down at the table, forks in hand, and started pounding the tabletop, chanting, "CAKE, CAKE, CAKE!" To which, forthwith, Anne Marie grabbed her bff, Lori DelCampo and into the kitchen they went.
The cake, piled high with whipped cream and resembling more a wedding cake than a birthday cake, was set on a high-standing platter.
"Canndles, we need da canndles," Lori said, the emphasis on the word can in candles. "I'll get the coughfee on while you get the CANNdles." Coughfee, the New Jersey girl word for coffee.
While Lori made the coughfee, sorry, coffee, Anne Marie realised she had forgotten to buy CANNdles, I mean candles. What to do? Well, Anne Marie saw a red taper on the sunporch, so she went and got it, plopped it on top of the cake and declared she was a "one canndle kinda girl."
Since it took both of them to lift the cake, they decided to light the taper once they had set the gigantic conglomeration on the table. This they did to oohs and ahhs.
"What happened ta da 36 canndles?"Rosie asked.
"Whadda I need 36 canndles when I got one giant one." Anne Marie quipped.
"Well, Anne Marie dats da sorriest lookin' canndle I ever seen," Rosie said.
"Ugh, enough already." Anne Marie said, flicking on the propane stick, she leaned in toward the cake, and with a fizz sound, the wick took light. Then the flame died, and it looked, for all intents and purposes, like a sparkler. Well, it did until it went boom! Somewhere around the second chorus of Happy Birthday the cake suddenly exploded, but not without a casualty. I am sorry to say that at the very last minute, Anne Marie realised it was no sparkler, it was a stick of dynamite. Yes, R. Linda, it blew Anne Marie's fingers off, put a hole through the roof, damaged the house to the point where the structure is in question, blackened everything within a radius of 2 feet, including the "girls" and every window in the house and the entire block was blown out. All the girls are pretty deaf from the blast, but otherwise, they somehow survived it. I can't say the same for Anne Marie. Besides losing every finger on her right hand, and being deaf as a doorpost, and losing her house, she be pretty banged and burned up. How could the other "girls" get away with just one injury to their hearing you ask, well all that whipped cream bathed them in a thick coating of insulation that only when the whipped cream melted off (which was rather quickly) did they discover their skin, hair, and dresses were soot covered.
I tell ya, R. Linda, let this be a warning, don't go to any Jersey Girl parties... EVAH (as they say in Jersey).
Note: You want to know where the dynamite stick came from? Well, that's a story in itself. Around the fourth of July, there was some construction work being done on a highway behind Anne Marie's house. They were blowing up boulders for a new exit. It seems Anne Marie's labradoodle went over the hill after the blasting was done for the day and found a red stick. The animal put it between its teeth and took it home. The next day was the Fourth of July, and Anne Marie and family had a cookout complete with fireworks. Well, the dog must have decided he could add more excitement to the party and went for the stick, which he deposited at Dominic's feet. Dominic and his buddies knew immediately what it was. Not wanting to alarm the "ladies," they stuck it on a shelf in the sunroom, where they promptly forgot about it. In her haste to find a candle, and being quite a ways in her cups, Anne Marie mistook the dynamite stick for a red taper. There ya go! Not only was Anne Marie guilty of the stupids, so were her hubby and his friends. Forget the dog.
Gabe
Copyright © 2018 All rights reserved
Story #926
R. Linda:
Well, here's a tale for you. Let's start with Anne Marie DelVecchio, not her real name, but a suitable pseudonym, and I apologise to any actual Anne Marie DelVecchios out there. It all came down, as the millennials say, to a birthday party for Anne Marie. Before I step further down the story, let me preface this by saying, Anne Marie is a wee bit of a control freak; she even had to take her own birthday celebration in hand and organise it to the last. Her husband, Dominic (not his real name), decided after ten years of marriage not to interfere. This year, Anne Marie was turning 36, and at that age, you'd think Anne Marie had done some learning. But alas, not so much.
Anne Marie decided this year to have a small celebration with her girlfriends they all of whom are big fans of the Housewives series. They all thought of themselves as Jersey girls and that each of their important lives was deserving of a reality show. However, none knew how to go about that sort of thing, so instead, they decided among themselves that they would treat their get-togethers as if they were actually on a reality show with thousands, if not millions, of viewers.
This meant that hair, makeup, clothing, jewellery and in some cases husbands, were groomed to the nines.
"Ey, we should all look like rich bitches." Carmella Cignarella announced when this idea was being bandied around.
"Yeh, we should have our nails done and stuff and even have one of us film each episode on our cell phone." This said by Loi DelCampo.
"I like it, let's do that, girls, we deserve it." Anne Marie stated, and that was the beginning.
So, when it came to Anne Marie's birthday, she decided to spend it with her "showmates," as she called them; the family could wait. First, she wanted a big bash with the girls, and she'd worry about her kids, husband and family later. So she got everything together, and it was decided they'd have this bash not in a restaurant but at Anne Marie's house.
Ah the house, the house was this split level affair built in the 1970s and from the outside it was no great digs but holy cow the inside was decked out in red wall paper, the wood painted gilt gold, large reproduction cardboard paintings of fruit and flowers on the flocked walls in gold frames, of course. The furniture was in red velvets, black velvet drapes, and lots of plump velvet throw pillows with glitzy fringe; it looked like a bordello. But to the "girls," it was the height of elegant living.
So the scene be set if you will, canapes and sandwiches with all the trimmings, lots of wine, red, white, rose', and plenty of bejewelled and coiffed to the hilt women ready to party on. Things went rosy the whole way through, not a hitch in the entertainment, which consisted of a Magic Mike performance by three dudes from the dancing school down the road. Oh yeah, the ladies were in stripper heaven.
The champagne flowed, the laughter grew boisterous and more frequent, the voices grew louder, and you could say they were all floating on wine by the time the cake was ready to be served and the presents were opened.
If you were there, you'd say these chicks were high on themselves and the acting was quite something to behold, with one of them pretending to get angry and pull the tablecloth out from under the plates of the others. Crockery and food went everywhere, but this shenanigan was expected, and the glitter dresses were saved when Rosie Klunghoffer announced she didn't need any "stinkin' cake," the cue for everyone to back away from the table. Once this manoeuvre was pulled off (in this case not very well), Dominique Dubois tore off her dress and in her silk undies lay down in the pate and cocktail sauce to roll around like a poodle. What brought that on, one can only surmise or dismiss as nothing more than Dominique's ego, wanting to show off the 20 pounds she dropped in her Victoria's Secret underwear.
But wait, it gets even better (well, not better, more bizarre, and not a little scary, if not tragic). Once they pulled Dominque off the floor and towel her down, they had another round of champagne. I'd like to say Dominque wasn't standing around in her underwear, but she was, towel turbaned on her head, chandelier earrings winking in the bright lights. After a few more glasses of the bubbly stuff, Carmella wanted cake because she was "starting" to feel woozy. Starting? Yeah, well, that's what she said. Everyone chimed in, and they sat back down at the table, forks in hand, and started pounding the tabletop, chanting, "CAKE, CAKE, CAKE!" To which, forthwith, Anne Marie grabbed her bff, Lori DelCampo and into the kitchen they went.
The cake, piled high with whipped cream and resembling more a wedding cake than a birthday cake, was set on a high-standing platter.
"Canndles, we need da canndles," Lori said, the emphasis on the word can in candles. "I'll get the coughfee on while you get the CANNdles." Coughfee, the New Jersey girl word for coffee.
While Lori made the coughfee, sorry, coffee, Anne Marie realised she had forgotten to buy CANNdles, I mean candles. What to do? Well, Anne Marie saw a red taper on the sunporch, so she went and got it, plopped it on top of the cake and declared she was a "one canndle kinda girl."
Since it took both of them to lift the cake, they decided to light the taper once they had set the gigantic conglomeration on the table. This they did to oohs and ahhs.
"What happened ta da 36 canndles?"Rosie asked.
"Whadda I need 36 canndles when I got one giant one." Anne Marie quipped.
"Well, Anne Marie dats da sorriest lookin' canndle I ever seen," Rosie said.
"Ugh, enough already." Anne Marie said, flicking on the propane stick, she leaned in toward the cake, and with a fizz sound, the wick took light. Then the flame died, and it looked, for all intents and purposes, like a sparkler. Well, it did until it went boom! Somewhere around the second chorus of Happy Birthday the cake suddenly exploded, but not without a casualty. I am sorry to say that at the very last minute, Anne Marie realised it was no sparkler, it was a stick of dynamite. Yes, R. Linda, it blew Anne Marie's fingers off, put a hole through the roof, damaged the house to the point where the structure is in question, blackened everything within a radius of 2 feet, including the "girls" and every window in the house and the entire block was blown out. All the girls are pretty deaf from the blast, but otherwise, they somehow survived it. I can't say the same for Anne Marie. Besides losing every finger on her right hand, and being deaf as a doorpost, and losing her house, she be pretty banged and burned up. How could the other "girls" get away with just one injury to their hearing you ask, well all that whipped cream bathed them in a thick coating of insulation that only when the whipped cream melted off (which was rather quickly) did they discover their skin, hair, and dresses were soot covered.
I tell ya, R. Linda, let this be a warning, don't go to any Jersey Girl parties... EVAH (as they say in Jersey).
Note: You want to know where the dynamite stick came from? Well, that's a story in itself. Around the fourth of July, there was some construction work being done on a highway behind Anne Marie's house. They were blowing up boulders for a new exit. It seems Anne Marie's labradoodle went over the hill after the blasting was done for the day and found a red stick. The animal put it between its teeth and took it home. The next day was the Fourth of July, and Anne Marie and family had a cookout complete with fireworks. Well, the dog must have decided he could add more excitement to the party and went for the stick, which he deposited at Dominic's feet. Dominic and his buddies knew immediately what it was. Not wanting to alarm the "ladies," they stuck it on a shelf in the sunroom, where they promptly forgot about it. In her haste to find a candle, and being quite a ways in her cups, Anne Marie mistook the dynamite stick for a red taper. There ya go! Not only was Anne Marie guilty of the stupids, so were her hubby and his friends. Forget the dog.
Gabe
Copyright © 2018 All rights reserved
