Page 9 of Someone Save My Midlife Tonight
“Ah, yes! Jimmy George Carrots is correct about games of chance in my estimation! I never bet money on them,” Timsaid, pulling out the ever-present notebook from one of the many pockets of his mail uniform. In a not-so-ironic twist, my dear socially awkward buddy was the Immortal Courier between the Darkness and the Light and also a mailman in the human realm. While Candy Vargo was unpredictable, Tim was not. What you saw was what you got—kind, loving and wonderfully weird. “Very risky—a game of chance. While I enjoy a good hand of blackjack, I don’t like wagering my hard-earned income. Must save my pennies for retirement!”
Heather looked up from the book and laughed. “Tim, you’re several hundred years past retirement age.”
“Try several boobin’ penis thousand,” Candy Vargo muttered, much to the confusion of everyone except me.
Tim giggled. “Oh yes! I’m definitely past my prime. However, for the last two hundred years or so I’ve picked humans in great need and quietly supplemented their retirement income with my earnings. And that is why I stay away from games whose outcomes are determined by chance. A good Roth IRA is a far better way to go than a game of chance where the winner is determined by a random competition where there’s no skill in choosing the winner.”
Every new thing I learned about Tim made me love him even more.
“Don’t know about that, nutter butter vagina,” Candy mused aloud as everyone in the room stared at her in confusion. She looked around in surprise. She clarified. “I’m talkin’ about the fartin’ stock market, you Pop Tart testicles. I’d say that a roll with Merlin’s magic nards on Wall Street is equally as risky as roulette. Just sayin’.”
“I’m sorry,” Heather choked out, squinting at Candy Vargo in disbelief. “Did you just say Pop Tart testicles and Merlin’s magic nards?”
Candy rolled her eyes. “Yes, mothersharter, I did. And if all you people, and by people I’m talkin’ about GRAM, would pull your heads out of your bahookeyholes and stop bein’ clitorises you’d realize that cussin’ is not good.” She stomped her foot and chomped down so hard on the toothpicks in her mouth they split in half. “And just to be clear on the bullspit, body parts ain’t bad words. Captain Crunch’s hairy bahookey, I mean it. Also, a bitch is a female dog and an ass is a donkey. So, if any of you penises wanna come at me, let’s go. I’ll yeet your smelly bahookies into the next century.”
Jennifer walked over to Candy Vargo and handed her an open bottle of wine. “Drink this.”
“Why?” Candy demanded.
“Cause it’s five o’clock somewhere and you seem like you’re havin’ a bad day, girlfriend,” Jennifer told her. “A nice little buzz might counteract the concussion you’ve obviously had.”
Candy took a swig and handed the bottle back to my Botox-loving human buddy. “Thank you, corn nut,” she said. “But I’m serious. All you wrinkled testicles need to have better fartin’ manners. I’m done with all the Shitake mushrooms and anal sphincters. You hear me?”
I bit down on my bottom lip so hard, I was surprised I didn’t draw blood. I was beginning to think an f-bomb or five was better than the frightening gibberish she’d just spewed.
Gram floated over to Candy in concern and placed her semi-transparent hand on the Keeper of Fate’s forehead. “Candy girl, what in the fuckin’ hell and tarnation is wrong with you?”
I winced at Gram’s choice of words. Candy Vargo was on to something. Hearing my grandmother’s poop language was beyond disturbing.
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me, Gram,” she yelled, wagglingher finger in the air at the ghost. “But there sure is somethin’ shartin’ wrong with you! Your mouth needs to be washed out with Tony the tiger’s ball sac.”
I almost sprinted from the room. However, my need to scream in laughter weakened my legs. Squatting down, I dropped my head between my knees and did some deep breathing. I almost passed out, but that was preferable to getting electrocuted by Candy for laughing at her.
June shoved a few of her famous peanut butter cookies into her mouth to keep from losing it. Amelia had both hands plastered over her mouth. Jennifer chugged the rest of the wine to avoid cackling. Tory let her head fall to the card table, but the trembling of her slim body gave away the fact she was hiding her laugh. Tim’s mouth was open in a perfect O. Gideon had simply closed his eyes and shook his head. I was sure the coughing would start shortly. Heather and Missy didn’t hide it. They laughed openly. When Candy Vargo went to flip them off, she electrocuted her hand before she could complete the deed.
This was getting out of hand. If Candy Vargo kept setting herself on fire, we could be down a warrior. Not that she could permanently off herself, but healing from a fifth-degree burn could take a while.
Gram chuckled and turned a few flips in the air. The old broad’s sunken eyes twinkled, and her smile was smug. In that moment, I knew she’d been a profane drunken sailor on purpose. It reminded me of when I was a teen and had insisted on obscenely short skirts. She didn’t forbid me from wearing them. Nope, she began sporting them herself. They were so short, her granny panties showed. When she threatened to pick me up from school wearing the butt-baring garment, I caved. From that day forward, I only woreskirts that didn’t show my religion. Gram was a smart cookie. She worked in mysterious ways.
“Well fuck me runnin’,” Gram announced as Candy looked like she was about to implode. “Didn’t think you’d give a flyin’ shit about my new vernacular since you use it, child. Never in my life… or death, did I think I’d see you pitchin’ a hissy fit with a tail on it about a few fucks and shits.”
“GRAM,” Candy Vargo shrieked. “Are you tryin’ to kill me?”
Gram giggled and floated down so she was eye to eye with the woman she’d basically adopted as her honorary daughter. “Bothers you, huh, Candy girl?”
Candy Vargo nodded and ground her toothpick between her clenched teeth. “I’m gonna stop cussin’ to show you the right way. I’m feelin’ as guilty as the Rock’s man boobs about you cussin’ your deceased bahookey off.”
Gram wrapped the fuming woman in her dead arms. Her arms went right through Candy, but the love was there. “I feel real dang honored that your gonna give up cussin’ to help me out. Shows me how much you love me! It’s just dills my pickle that we can stop sayin’ poop words together. You’re gonna have to help me, girlie. Can you do that?”
The relief on Candy’s face was almost as comical as her reference to Merlin’s magic balls. Gram’s reverse psychology was the winner… again. She should teach a parenting master class.
“I can do that, Gram,” Candy vowed. She glanced around the room. “And if I hear any one of you jackholes say somethin’ improper, I’m gonna whoop your bahookey. I’m swearin’ that on Ronald McDonald’s boogers.”
Everyone was silent. I was too afraid to speak. The shriek of hysterical laughter trapped in my mouth was dying to enter the room. Getting electrocuted wasn’t on the agenda.
It was Tim who spoke first. “My dear Candy Vargo, your wish to hear only classy vocabulary from now on shall be granted. Of course, being that you’re the one with the most grievous issues in the swearing department, is there any way we can help you?”
Heather piped up immediately. “I’ll volunteer to set her on fire if she slips up.”
