Ang to Allen: Shh! Do you want to die?
And then it bellowed: WHERE’S MY PANTYHOSE?!
Oh, Lordy, help us! Her face scrunched up, her eyeballs bulged out, and she turned beet red as her raspy voice made a second inquiry. We were speechless. Utterly dumbfounded. It must have been obvious to her that we were not the Pantyhose Delivery Company because she pounded back down the hallway to her lair.
Allen to Ang: Were those barnacles on the back of her bathrobe?
Ang to Allen: For God’s sake, man, SHUT UP! What if she comes back?
We were just about to get the heck out of Dodge when the front door opened and Cheri and Dave walked in. We ran to them like they were our last chance for survival.
Ang to Cheri: OhmyGOD, Cheri! Was that your mother we just met?
And what I’m about to tell you—I KID YOU NOT—is exactly what Cheri said:
Cheri: Yes, that’s my mom. She’s in a bad mood and in quite a bit of pain. You see, every few months or so she has to have this thing cut off and it’s always painful.
Ang: A thing? What? What kind of a thing? Like a . . . a . . . wart or something?
Cheri: Well, it’s like a finger that grows out of her butt and it has to be cut off because it grows too big. She just had it done the other day so she’s still sore.
YIKES! Do you know how fast we wanted to run out the door?! Oh, but it got so much better when Dave piped in with a little more of the weird science family medical history.
Dave: You know Cheri was born with one boob…
Allen and I immediately stared at Cheri’s chest.
Cheri (Grabbing the right side of her chest): I had plastic surgery to create this one.
Allen and Ang: Oooohhh . . .
Dave: Anyway, Cheri’s mom has three breasts…
Say no more! Saved by a knock at the door. Dave opened it and two of our friends from back home walked in. The woman, Gayle, was wearing the same dress as mine! We looked at each other with the same look on our faces to match the same dresses we were wearing.
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