Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Cranky Mother-in-law

Eliza dropped by her mother-in-law’s house. She was confident and eager that this would be an easy sell. Softy, who was a master salesman, had sold her on the idea of the $149 pillow. She walked in with the pillow under her arm.

“Madonna, I have the most exciting pillow for you. You are going to love it. No more sleepless nights or waking up with bags under her eyes.”

Madonna was quite embarrassed about the bags under her eyes, and talked about them frequently. But if anyone else mentioned them she was ready to chop their head off.

“What do you mean “bags.” Do I look that terrible? What is wrong with your marriage that you always have to come over here and insult me?”

“Madonna, you are very beautiful for your age,” Eliza said, putting her foot deeper in her mouth.

“For my age. And tell me, why are you so cruel?”

“Please, let’s start all over. I have a pillow that will bring peace and contentment to your life.”

“Hey, listen lady. You may be frustrated with that son of mine, but I don’t need no damn pillow to be happy.”

At this point Eliza was getting quite frustrated. She was starting to wonder if she could sell pillows to anyone. Everything she said seemed to unsell this spectacular product that she had.

“Will you please just lay your head down on this pillow and close your eyes.”

“Eliza, that is the oldest trick in the house. Then you’ll steal some of my silverware and . . . “

“Madonna, I’ve made a good faith effort to do something nice for you, and you are full of such evil suspicions.”

“Ok. Ok. I’ll try out your pillow. How much is the pillow, anyway?”

“How much does a sleepless night cost you? How much is spent on sleeping pills in the United States each year?”

“Don’t con me, you daughter of a bitch. Just tell me how much is the pillow and I’ll put my head on it.”

“Madonna, it is $149 and worth every cent of it.”

“No pillow is worth $149.”

“How can you say that? You haven’t even tried it. Suppose you got so much rest that you could see a way to clean up your house a little?”

“And now you are calling me a bad housekeeper. Girl, you better get out of here before I throw you out of the window . . . pillow and all.”

With that, Eliza, in tears running down her cheek and a pillow under her arm, made a beeline to the front door.