A Visit From Nick

I’d like to ring her scrawny neck!  Who did that woman think she was?  I’d been standing on my feet for nearly two whole days, baking up a storm for her stupid Thanksgiving dinner, and she had the nerve to ask me to stay late?  What about my family?  What about our Thanksgiving?  I had baked eight of my famous Rum and Pumpkin Pies, along with a zillion sweet and savory scones, more than enough to feed a hoard of starving guests.  What else did she require—blood?

Bitsy McCord is a selfish, extravagant, and self-centered woman.  She's also a phony.  Born on the wrong side of the tracks—if Pine Grove, Alabama actually had tracks—she has succeeded in erasing all traces of her past and manage to climb to the very pinnacle of the local social ladder, separating herself from anyone reminding her of those earlier years.  Through pure, dumb luck, she was able to accomplish everything she had set out to do.  She married extremely well, and she never let any of us forget it.

I wasn’t so fortunate.  Anyone who knows me could say Trisha Belmont had made a complete mess of her life.  I suppose that is true, as I have made a few serious mistakes; but in general, I am content with my life…well, most of the time.   I have recently suffered some hardships, and am currently at my wit’s end, but that’s life…isn’t it?  As frustrating as everyday life can be, dealing with the likes of Mrs. McCord shouldn’t have to be a part of it.  I swear that woman could cause a saint to fall from grace—and I’m certainly no saint.

Now and then, I, too, need someone to lean on for emotional support…someone to occasionally take my side, or give my sore feet a good rub.  In fact, I have oftentimes thought it wouldn’t hurt if that specific someone were tall and handsome, compassionate and rich.  But above all, he would have to love children.  I don't think I'm asking for too much; and I'm definitely expecting to receive far less. 

Then it happened.  At the end of a spectacularly atrocious day, one that had left me sobbing and beating my head against the steering wheel of my car, he stepped out from the dark, wearing shiny boots and a fancy black Stetson.  He asked me if I needed a jump.

A jump.  Isn’t that about the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard?  Sure, I sighed.  I could use a jump and a whole lot more…