Fatale Abstraction

There's a kooky older lady who dates a 70-something friend of my dad's. Dad's friend is a pain-in-the-ass all by himself, but along with Flossie, they form the ultimate gruesome twosome. Flossie exhibits many hallmarks that would make a classic lovable old Texas big-haired gal, but she has some extremely irritating traits that trump all the good stuff.

In the positive category, Flossie has an enormous meringue 'do of salt-and-pepper hair that you just know she wraps in toilet paper every night. She wears enormous dangly earrings and gigantimous necklaces like the classic 60s jointed owl pendants, and their little tails hang precariously from the sheer precipice of her quad-Z-cup bosom, a fluttery metallic reminder of the 800 pound cleavage in the room. Big ugly rings. Keeping with the gold theme, some of her eye teeth are crunked out, with a rim of gold gleaming from aound the perimeter of several pearly yellows. Lee Press-on nails-- LOVE that shit! Eyeglasses that were ugly when they were new 15 years ago. Loud clothing. She can be very sweet and endearing and has a way of calling every waiter "honey" that makes her seem grandmotherly toward them. Yes, she is a Quigman.

In the negative column - Flossie wears a garish, cheap perfume that will cling to your hair and clothes from the moment she enshrouds you in her bear-like hug until the next time you wash them. Honestly, it's up there in the world-series of stink. Perhaps most damning of all to the public at large is that she is seen out with the wastrel guy she dates, dad's friend.

Sometime I'll post about him and tell how he goes into crowded restaurants and tells the host that he is diabetic and his enormous fat useless ass needs to be seated immediately. I've no idea if that has ever worked, but I know he's done it more than once. Obnoxious.

But the thing about Flossie that is beyond redemption in my eyes is her flagrant giggling and flirting at my father. I can understand that, by virtue of hanging around that gasbag she dates, she gets to enjoy the company of my extremely handsome father, but bitch! Please! Have the decency not to act girlish and coy at a man in front of his grown children. This one might just kick your ass. (If my mum doesn't first, that is)

Once Flossie and her man insisted my parents go on a short trip to a holiday resort with them. They flew on a small propeller plane from Dallas, to a small airport mid-way, and then finally on to the resort. This small plane was run by a long rubber-band extending from the prop to a big hook at the back of the fuselage. Flossie and the old goat sat their big butts at the very back of the plane, and my dad, from whom I inherited my terrific spatial sense and knowing that there was a woeful amount of weight at the back of the plane, watched the pilots struggle to get the plane off the ground. There was one seat on each side, and an aisle in the middle, and the pilots were fully visible to all passengers. At the mid-point stop, the two pilots got off the plane and re-arranged the baggage under the floor so that less weight was in the back of the plane, and had Flossie and partner move forward and sit over the wings. No lie -Flossie & Co. were probably about 700 pounds of horseflesh.

What does make me sad for her is that her 50-ish meth-head son burned her house down last year with her annoying little dog named Destiny in it. In my opinion, naming a dog Destiny is just asking for trouble. I could write an entire series of crap novels based on dog events:

Destiny Craps on the Carpet

The Mailman Cries Destiny

Groomed for Destiny

Destiny in Flames

Yes. I feel terrible about it - that last one was so wrong!

I did a spell-check and my artistic rendering of Flossie multiplied by cellular mitosis, apparently. Don't know what I did wrong.