Two old friends cross paths at a coffee shop. They squawk at each other.
“Oh, June, sweetheart!”
“How are the children?”
They sit at an empty table and the competition is on.
“My son lives on the seventeenth floor of the tallest building in town.”
“Well, my daughter just moved into the eighteenth floor of that very building.”
“Oh, but my son has two parking spaces.”
“My daughter has three.”
“My son is a professional. He’s on over sixty-thousand a year.”
“My daughter’s new partner is earning over seventy.”
“I’m here to meet my son’s new partner coincidentally. A lawyer. Are you going to be here much longer?”
“I’m actually here to meet my daughter’s new partner. A doctor. It’s a private affair, would you mind moving before he arrives?”
Marigold’s son appears in the doorway in his supermarket uniform. Holding his hand is June’s daughter in her waitress’ outfit.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you ma’am.” Says the young man, shaking June’s hand cordially. June’s daughter says likewise, shaking Marigold’s hand.
“We’ll all have to pay for our own drinks today, mum.” Says the young lady. “We’re a little low on cash.”
Both mothers are glowing like stop lights: bright red. Marigold’s son takes note.
“Have you two met before?”
4 thoughts on “The Competition”
I can relate. My wife has a sister like this. If you’re sick, she’s sicker. If you died, she died yesterday. 😯
Yes! I know the type. Reminds me of the ladies who were talking about a nasty case of advanced, acute, chronic hypochondria when a passing busybody brags “oh, I’ve had that for years.”
Anything to be the centre of attention! Thanks for reading.
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