Fund Stories – True stories- Humor- Short storie
Today was so beautiful, I couldn’t stop singing. Yes, the hills were alive with the sound of music. But, not for long though. Mother Nature and her children claimed that my voice was a high degree hazard threatening their safety, so one of them triggered nature’s smoke alarm.
Yes, I suffered a third-degree sunburn all over my body. And, a snake almost bit my tongue off.
I was furious. “Are you guys for real?” I yelled. “Here I am singing my heart out to you guys and.”
“Are you guys for real?” I yelled. “Here I am singing my heart out to you guys and.”
But, before I could finish my sentence, I heard.
“First off, “We are Ladies, not “Guys.”
So I answered, “And, you ladies have your monthly visitor or something?”
“NO! Its just that, only Maria is welcome upon these hills.” They answered back.
So, later on, when I went back wearing Maria’s original dress. I even wore the same striped apron. And, since my hair was already shaved, I was looking just like a black version of Maria.
YES, IT WAS THE SAME DRESS!!!
In fact, the thrift shop owner where I actually purchased the dress from was originally from Austria. Seriously, she looked just like a typical Austrian woman. Yes, she was a dark skin African/American woman, with thick coarse hair, dressed like a Gipsy.
Well! What did you expect? For God’s sake, this is America.
And, for all of you doubters, that’s all I will say about that.
Gosh! Do I always have to explain myself?
Anyway, let me get back to my story: So when I went back to the hills. (Yes, I was singing and dancing, just like Maria.) Till shortly after, I heard,
“Hey, you jalapeno drum beat, this is California, not Florida!”
“How dare?” I thought to myself.
That’s before I answered then back “You dry sands; no wonder EARTHQUAKE is your middle name.”
“Exactly!” Another voice yelled. “And, with your chubby self stumping here, you’re certainly not doing us a favor either!”
“Gosh!” I screamed. “Here I’m dressed like Maria, dancing and singing my heart out, and you guys are still kicking me out of here.”
That’s when they all yelled back.
“Who told you to come audition here? THIS IS NOT HOLLYWOOD!!!”
So I yelled back: “What were you all expecting me to do here? I’m from the Von Trapp family, so, of course I’m trapped here!”
“Now Miss Ladesse you’re a one damn good soul- Swear to God – swear to God.” Said the old man. He was still sitting down on his lazy boy while holding his cane. With his righ hand, he was sipping his cup of coffee she had just prepared for him. The young nurse smiled before she answered him.
“Well thank you Mr. D, but you mean” I’m a good soul?”
“Swear to God Miss Ladesse. Swear to God. There’re no damn good soul left here on this earth!”
“Mr. D you mean only the good souls are left? ”
“No Miss Ladesse. NO. There are no damn good souls left. I swear to God-Swear to God.”
Well, shouldn’t we be rejoicing about that Mr. D?”
“Rejoycing? No damn good soul left here and I should be happy about that? What’s wrong with you Miss Ladesse?”
“Mr. D. Don’t you think the world should be a better place without the damned good souls.”
“NO IT WON’T! Sure ain’t! If the damn good souls are gone, only the damn bad souls are left here, what to rejoice about?”
“Mr. D, if they are good souls then, why are they damned? I’m not a damned good soul, I’m a good soul.”
“Well Miss Ladesse, I don’t know about you, but I’m one damn good soul, and I thought you were one too, but I guess I was wrong.”
“Mr. D I’m still a good soul.”
“And this is exactly what I’m trying to tell you here Miss Ladesse. “ You’re one damn good soul.”
“But, I thought you just said there were “no damned good soul left here Mr. D?”
“That’s not what I said Miss Ladesse. The old man yelled. You’re not hearing me right. “I said there are no damn good souls left here, but you and I are sure two damn good ones left here. Swear to God-swear to God.”
But Mr. D, if we are two good souls, why do you refer to us as ‘two damned souls?”
“That’s just the way it is Miss Ladesse. Swear to God, I swear to God! “But damn it, for a damn good soul, you sure are one damn stupid sould, if you can’t get what I-SAYIN!!!”
Wishing all the beautiful and worthy Mothers a “Wonderful Mother’s Day!”
For your unconditional love:
Child: “Mah, I’m ready for you to wipe my boody!”
Mother: “Hold on, I said I’m coming!”
Child: “But it smells Mah, hurry up, MAH!!!”
For all you’ve sacrificed:
Child: “Wow Mah, I love this dress; thank you. Where did you buy it from?”
Mother: “The thrift shop.”
Child: “THE THRIFT SHOP????”
For all the sleepless nights and awakening moments.
Mother: “Oh no! Nurse, I think you made a mistake.”
Nurse: “I’m afraid this is your baby Ms…”
Mother: “Are you kidding m? Does the hospital has a “Return To Sender”stamp?”
For all your heartfelt prayers:
Mother’s typical prayer:
“Lord please watch over my little angels, they are so perfect and I love them so much.”
Children: “Mahhhhhhh…. tell her to leave me ALONE!”
Mother’s revise prayer: “Lord please send your angels down to restrain me before I slap the crap out of my little demons!”
Mother’s furious prayer:
“Lord, if you give me one more girl like these ones, I swear I’ll search for Jacob’s ladder, and climb the trillion stairs to heaven, to dump her right back on your lap!!!”
Lastly, Mother’s thanksgiving prayers:
“Dear Lord, thank you for watching over my babies. And, thank you for the blessed gift of Motherhood!”
Now, a garden of flowers for you lovely Mothers.
I’m walking past a Caucasian assumable junky, pleading to an African American guy for his daily bread.
I had to intervene when he said:
“Hey man, you know the drill, things are rough for me bro!”
“Hold on a second!” I yelled at him. “You are not supposed to use those slings, they are copyrighted to the black people, and you are white.”
The black guy said “My thought exactly. I am profoundly astonished at his ability to imitate the sling expressions so well, which predominantly belong to the Afrocentric world.
I turned to the black guy and said: “Did you guys agreed to exchange path in your past lives? Because, on one hand, the white junky is speaking like a black man, while you on the other hand, sound like a white man.”
The black guy answered: “What a profound statement! But this is the way I speak. In fact, both of my parents were white, they claimed a black woman run away with their son.”
The white guy said: “My old lady was a black woman. Regardless, this is a free country, and we’re now free to speak as we damn pleased.” We’re Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, we are Free at last!”
“Hello!” I yelled back at him. “You were always free. You were never a slave, take a look at your skin, you – are – not –black!!!”
The white junky raised his hand, starred as his skin, then he said: Damn! You are right, I’m a white man!”
As I we walked away, he yelled: “Hey – do you want to be my baby mamma?”
During my early childhood, I was convinced my mission here on this earth was clear. It was my Godly duty, “To rebuke everyone I caught lying.
I didn’t do it in purpose. I just did not understand the concept of lying. So, I could not comprehend why people had a thought time to remember what they really meant to say. So, my natural instinct was to help them remember the truth. But, I guess like all my other values, this one was not part of the family I was drafted into. Therefore I got a few whooping, here and there, actually, quite often. Although I never understood why?
Like the afternoon when the milk lady came to collect her monthly payment. When she asked my brother for my mother, who was standing right behind the door, my brother answered, “She’s not here.”
“Why are you lying?” I reprimanded him. “Auntie is behind the door Lady. If you pull the door toward you, you should see her standing right there. She even saw you walking, so she’s probably waiting for you.” When the milk lady pull the door and saw my mother, for the life of me, I couldn’t not understand why she had given me what I call today “The Look.” As if she was telling me, “I’m going to get you later on!” And, she certainly did.
Yes, I used to call my mother Auntie. I never understood why. Till this day, I ask myself why I thought she was my Auntie, instead of my Mom? I must have been six when I was finally hypnotized to start calling her “Mom.” But to get back to the story, the second incident I recalled rebuking her for lying was when that gossiper stopped by our house. At least, that’s how my mom always referred to her. So one early morning while I was minding my own business playing with my doll, I heard:
“Hello “Ti Chouchou!” She said. (Meaning: “Hello little darling!”) “Where is your Mom?” After I got up and kissed her, (since it was our custom to kiss the adults who visited us.) I asked her: “Are you the lady who like to talk about other people’s business? If so, you are a gossiper, and my mom does not want to see you, so you can go now.”
In Haïti, all the neighbors were given the just right to discipline a child. I guess they believe in the saying “It takes a village to raise a child!” So imagined the woman who grabbed me by my arm, as she attempts to turn my back toward her. And, just when she was about to give me the first slap in my butt, I yelled:
“You are not going to touch me you gossiper! You must first learn how not to talk about other people’s business before “YOU TOUCH ME!”
When my mother who was still inside the house, heard the whole commotion, she rushed toward the patio to see what was going on.
“Hi Linda, I, I didn’t know you were here! What did she do wrong this time?”
Linda as furious as she can be answered: “She called me a gossiper, while being very disrespectful.”
My mom acting as she was “SHOCKED!”
“How dare you Nadège? Go put your knees down so I can deal with you later!”
“But Mom, she’s the gossiping lady you said you didn’t like when she came around. So I told her to go back home!”
Do you really want to know how this story ended?
The honest truth is “I don’t know how it ended between the adults. But years later, I could still feel the pain from my mom’s belt from my butt!
As for my father whom I never expected to lie. Unfortunately for him, I was fifteen when I finally caught him lying. One morning we were getting ready for church, when the phone ring. It was a friend of the family, but she always ate alllllll of our food, whenever she came to dine with us during Sunday dinner. Although, I loved her very much, because the fact is, she was a very nice lady, and a closse friend to my father and step Mom. But, to this day, I recalled inventing a special corn soufflé for her to eat, by adding extra sweets, which in turn prevented her from eating too much, then burp and fart while I sat next to her. She even said it herself. Whenever she ate my soufflé, she could no longer eat as much… “Thank God!” My sisters and I whispered between us.
So that morning when I answered her phone call, and she had asked for my father. I placed the phone on the night stand, before I called my father,
“Papy!” I said. “Ms. C is on the phone for you.”
He answered me, “She’s probably calling for Sunday’s dinner. Tell her I’m not here, but we will be eating by 3:00”
“But Papy, “You are here!” I answered, a bit disturbed.
“Yes, I’m here, but we are late for church. Just tell her what I just said.”
So I picked up the phone back and told her the following:
“Did you hear everything Papy said, or do you want me to repeat it to you?”
She busted in laughter. I mean, to the point, if I had travelled all the way to China, I would still hear her voice echo in laughter. Meanwhile, I was trying to grasp the humor in what I had said, since I didn’t think it was funny.
So she finally said:
“Go head Nadège, amuse me! What did your father said?”
With a serious tone, I answered her:
“Papy said he was not here because we are running late for church. But since you were probably calling about Sunday Dinner, to tell you, “Will be eating dinner at 3:00.”
Again she started laughing. Then she said: “Tell him I will see you guys at 3:00.” And, kept on laughing.
And, for the life of me, I kept on asking myself, “What was so funny?”