“Ring Ring” says the phone.
Dinah doesn’t pay attention to it. She flips the channel on the tv.
“RING RING!” the phone says again, a bit louder this time.
Dinah looks at the phone with contempt in her eyes and the phone returns a sheepish look.
“Ring Ring?” the phone questions in a hesitating, pleading tone.
“GAAH!” Dinah grumbles to herself and finally picks up the phone.
“What?” she sneers into the phone.
“Party.” the voice at the other end answers.
“Where?” she questions.
“My room.” the voice says with confidence.
“How many?” she says with irritation creeping in her voice.
“Seven.” the voice says comfortably.
“What was it?! A party or a funeral!” she almost laughs. “Any girls? she asks.
“Just one.” the voice says.
“Perverts.” Dinah chides the voice at the other end.
“Hey, come on!”
“Yeah, I’m coming.”
“Thanks Dinah, I owe you this one.”
“It’s ok son, that’s what mothers are for.”
So, Dinah the cleaner woman picks up the tools of her trade and gets up on her old tired knees to clean up her son’s room next door for the umpteenth time. The son puts down the phone in the next room, looks at the sink with its dirty dishes and throws in an old, dirty rose from last night for mother dearest.
(Nothingman likes to write short stories with at his blog A Story A Day.)