Funny, the things that bug her II

I'm sure that I have a pantheon of folks "up there" who like me, for no sooner had mom let out the screech that was certain to be followed up with a swift smack to the kisseroo, then the elevator door opened.

I tossed down the gloopy Palmetto mess, a sort of gauntlet that I knew would slow her up, and flew down the hall, key in hand. I was in the front door in a quantum moment and safely planted on the other side of the now closed door to my room by the time the fire-breathing beastie entered our apartment.

"You are so going to pay for that!" she snarled, setting the budgies in the cage by the living room window aflame with her dragon breath and laser-cannon eyes. Well, maybe the birdies survived, but you get the picture. She was, "miffed", shall we say?

"You know those things freak me out!"

I knew if I replied in any way shape or form, it would only make things worse. Instead, picture me nodding my hearty agreement, with my back pressed firmly against the door to avoid any surprise advances from the enemy.

A beat. Another. An audible intake of breath, and then a decided change in tone.

"Look, I'm not going to DO anything to you, so you might as well stop this nonsense and come out and help me. We've got a thousand things to do before tonight."

Did I mention that my mom is a world-class treaty breaker? Her change from red-hot, to cool burn textured every square inch of my skin with goosebumps. My eyes darted about the room for some avenue of escape other than the door that I had re-inforced with my body (excellent choice). The window. Yeah, right. It's 10 stories up. What am I supposed to do, grab a broom and fly out? (The blasted thing is in the hall closet, on the OTHER side of the door). Message to self, you are not Harry Potter (instructions: repeat until you feel better about this grave injustice).

"OPEN THIS DOOR!"

"You've grabbed the kitchen knife, haven't you?" I shout over my shoulder through the now too-thin door.

"Don't be such a jerk." I noted that her voice's edge was sharper than the blade that I hoped was still in the butcher block stand on the counter.

"Tell me that you love me." Honest-to-God tears in my eyes.

"That's my job, now open the door."

"I think I'll wait for a couple more storm clouds to blow out to sea."

Chunk! Chunk! The door rocks against my back with the force of two strong blows.

"MOVE IT MISTER! I am not going to be late for the party"

She packs a mean whallop, even through the door.

Then, I feel it.
Warm, hot, sticky, and stinging like a bitch.
I stumble away from the door and spin around to look over my shoulder into the mirror on my dresser to see two rather large, open running wounds. I turn my head and see their twins in my bedroom door.

"Mommmmm! I can't believe you did that!"

"OH, I see, it's alright to torment me with those ghastly bugs, but you go all whiney over a couple of teensy weensy stab wounds. You know Halloween is an important night for me, and you think nothing of getting me all out of sorts on the big day. Now, stop being such a wuss. Recite the healing incantation and get out here and help me put the razor blades in these cupcakes for the kiddies tonight."

I told you, she's a tough old witch.