MARY HAS SOME SUITORS – A SHORT STORY

“Oh, mother dearest, you know how I detest it when you leave me out.” Mary pouts. It doesn’t look very nice. Her mother frowns at Mary. She really does need to have a talk with Mary about that silly pout of hers. Quite off-putting, it is. Makes her look like those frisky midnight maids, it does.

Yes. She really does need to have a talk with Mary about that silly pout of hers.

Her mother –an exquisitely aged woman lounges over a lavish burgundy carpet. Her fingers are slowly hovering over letters from her daughter’s suitors. Her over-sufficient bosom swings to and fro with each rather exaggerated movement. Her aged, plentiful breasts are amplified by a fanciful waist apron and they hang luxuriously over the strap of it, testing the waters of ‘socially acceptable’. And her leathery skin resembles the Medjool dates. The beads of perspiration glisten indignantly, challenging one to not notice them.

Mary flounces over to mother dearest and hands on hips, she bends at the waist. It’s a totally exaggerated bend, though. It has her back curving unnaturally and her hips too high. Her shirt hangs low, giving a generous view of her ample cleavage. It doesn’t look very nice. Mother dearest pretends to not notice.

“Well I figured I would just look through the letters. See if there’s anything you’d like.” Mother dearest responds with a smirk. The two of them had been at it for weeks now. Not a single letter had been rich enough to keep them reading. The aspirants were uninteresting, bland and rather poor in potential.

“Yes, Mother dearest.” Mary straightens up slowly. And with respect to her personality, she sneers, arching her back like a cat and her nose turned up. With her toe, she shuffles the photographs attached to the letters, “They are below me. They are below us. They are below everything our family represents. They are simply below.”

“Pity, my child, you aren’t spoken for.”

“Yes, mother dearest. Pity.”

Mary flops down upon the carpet to join mother dearest. She sits on the glossy pixelated face of a suitor. Lord Earl won’t be very pleased with that. He had the photo especially laminated, too.

WRITER: TUBA SHAMIM, 17