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Rated: E · Short Story · Contest Entry · #1699899
old ladies love to gossip
“Oh my Corene, get in here! You'll catch your death out there in this frightful weather!”

“It's something terrible, isn't it Mabel? In sixty five years, I've only seen a dozen or so as bad as this one. Marge, Bernadette, what's the game tonight? Pitch? Gin Rummy? Berny, that sly look in your eye is telling me, Bridge is on the menu tonight.

“Corene, that's the only game we could play after the trouncing Marge and me took last week, but I got a good feeling about tonight. No sacrifices, all the bids, and all the trumps.

"Is that so, Berny? Well I better sit down and get to it. Just let me get my coat off, oh that's a spell better."

“Did you hear about Mr. Morgan? Spending all his free time down at Annette's?”

“Sure did.”

“Little soon, if you ask me.”

“I haven't even settled in and already you girls are going on about poor Leroy. If you want my opinion, I think he better act now, before he can't act at all. We aren't spring chickens, anymore ladies.”

“I agree with Corene. Leroy was always the social type. He can't stand to be alone. It's not in his nature.”

“Three months after he laid Beatrice to rest, common decency should come in there somewhere. Marge agrees with me on this one."

“You know what agrees with me, some card playing. Mabel are you dealing?"

“Of course, we need to stick to tradition.”

“Same teams?”

“Yes Marge, same teams. Me and you against Mabel and Corene.”

“Just checking, I can't ever figure out what you ladies are thinking. It changes everyday, I swear to the lord almighty.”

“Alright ladies here we go.”

“Major suits, Major suits”

“You don't have to worry about them getting lost, Berny. They're all in my hand.”

“We'll see, Corene. Oh what's this, it looks like a spade. Let me slide my glasses up a little further to make sure. Oh yes, I was right. A spade it is. Berny are you ready to take care of them?"

“Hey Marge, no talking across the table. You know the rules."

“Rules, rules. Mabel did you hear about Darlene?”

“Darlene? No, I haven't heard anything. Why?

“Well, a little birdie told me that she's got cancer.”

“Oh, that's terrible. What kind is it, Marge?”

“Throat cancer. I heard they had to take out her larynx, Corene.”

“Serves her right, if you ask me? She was such a gossip queen.”

“You don't mean that, Mabel?”

“Well, Corene, at least now, she can't spread those nasty rumors. Am I right Marge?”

“Yep, she got her comeuppance. Berny could you hand me my cigarettes?”

“Sure thing, Marge.”

{word count: 478}
© Copyright 2010 T.C. Abernathy (sealkris at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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