Tales From The Moonlight Bard

A Peculiar Babysitter

It had to be the flu. It felt like the flu. He was lucky, though he didn't get it as badly as other people. His body seemed decently defended against most viruses, but his indomitable male spirit had decided to take a day off. As per the stereotype, he was reduced to a blubbering mess when sick. He had tried home remedies, but the mustard sandwich one had been a long shot. Google really needed to reevaluate its sources for useful knowledge. So he lay there in bed whimpering like a chastized puppy. Wishing for some relief. Some magical, musical Julie Andrews-esque maiden who would nurse him back to health. He'd even accept a cheesy Disney song if he could just stop the snot faucet glazing the back of his throat. He heard a knock on his door. Was a spoonful of sugar gonna help the medicine go down??? Nope! It was, of course , his mom. In the haze of it all he had forgotten, he stayed the night at her place. Not so much to baby him as to put her head in the room every couple hours to ask if he was still alive. Oh no. Certainly, no form of comfort would come from this she-devil. She entered to inform him that there was a strip bingo game going on at the Hill Bottom bar across town. She said she probably wouldn't be home if she could "get lucky." Just when he thought that he had gotten over the nausea. She informed him that her friend Clara from the beauty shop would be coming to sit with him. If he needed anything, she'd be in the next room. A babysitter?? He was 32 years old!!! Maybe this stranger could come equipped with maternal instincts, and he could continue his pouting pow wow in peace. She ducked out and left. Things seemed ok. No major disturbances. An hour after his mother's s*x-driven departure, Clara had checked on him and introduced herself. Not at all what he had expected. She was young- looking, and petite. Hair up in a ponytail. Glasses amplified a somewhat vacant stare, but she was easy on the eyes. Maybe this night could be ok. He started to watch some new series on some phone app about a young squire who had decided to accept his destiny to be king when a strange noise caused him to pause the program. His mom's dog was whimpering. Maybe the damn dog had the flu, too. Its name was Tom, and it was an annoying bastard of a dog. The yappy kind. He got up out of bed and wandered to the door. Cracking it open, he wasn't quite sure what he was seeing. Clara had the vacuum cleaner on. She wasn't cleaning the carpet, though. The vacuum nozzle was making its way across the dogs belly as it begged for help. He thought he heard her say ,"Don't worry, little one. I'll take care of those fleas!". An interesting development. Not the 50's housewife scenario he had hoped for, but it couldn't happen to a nicer animal. He closed the door to hide the fact he was sniggering like a school boy after a mean prank. He laid back down. Eventually, the deed sounded done, so he went back to his show. Later on, Clara came back to the door to ask if he needed anything. He ranted about how the wicked witch had refused to run and get him a snack cake. A simple cake. All he wanted. But mother dearest acted like she'd have to pull her own teeth to make the trip. Clara offered to make him a snack. He thanked her and told her he appreciated her for it. This wasn't so bad after all. A little later, more commotion from outside the room. This time, he found her in the kitchen attempting to bake a cake. On the counter, a few eggs, vanilla, a cup of milk, and a bottle of mustard......For real? More mustard? Why was everyone so damn obsessed with mustard??? So he went to lay back down. She announced that there hadn't been any ingredients to bake an actual cake, so she decided to make a deviled egg cake instead. At this point, he thought this must be a dream. Nope. She brought in a personal sized cake that was obviously made from deviled eggs. The smashed up innards made the perimeter frosting and parika sprinkles. He cut into it as she handed it to him. Get well soon was written in relish. He thanked her, and she smiled a goofy smile as she left the room. What the actual hell was going on? He sat the cake on the bedside table and began to wonder if he was being taken care of by a mental patient. She just seemed so happy, though. So he thought maybe it was like the scene in The Little Mermaid where Ariel tried to brush her hair at the table with a dinglehopper. So she was odd. It's ok. He didn't exactly meet the status quo. On with the show. The young squire had finally raised an army to avenge his father and take the throne. He heard a scream from the next room. He jumped his sickly self up and hurried to investigate. And there she was. Fast asleep. The woman had dozed off on the couch, but apparently, she randomly screamed in her sleep. He covered her up. She had started talking now. Something about too many customers returning spatulas today. He went back to his room and decided to try to rest himself. After a spoonful of the nasty stuff, he was out like a light. When he woke up the next morning, he found Clara asleep at his feet. As he jumped up, She opened her eyes and explained that sometimes she dreams of a cat and ends up sleeping at people's feet. She offered to make breakfast but then realized that she'd used all the eggs to make the cake. The cake that had gone missing. It was later discovered just sitting in the toilet. He decided even Columbo might not be able to solve this mystery. So he chalked that one up to "s**t happens" as well. Finishing the show about the young squire, he decided to check on Clara. She was sitting at the kitchen table drawing penguins with very accurately portrayed human anatomy. She jumped as he walked in, as if not even realizing what she had been doing. She asked if he needed anything. He declined with an air of appreciation (and fear) and said he was only taking meds. He returned to his bed. She had survived the night somehow. He began to debate on who was watching who. He heard his incubator arrive around 3 pm. He was guessing she'd gotten what she wanted and was in no hurry to hear details. He rolled over to feign sleep. The ladies looked in, and she thanked Clara for watching "her baby" and then asked if she was seeing anyone. Clara acknowledged her lack of a significant other as his dear, sweet mother inquired if she was free the next few nights as well. She said she had a prior engagement in the current evening. It appears she was giving cave tours and a lecture on the many users of guano, but that the next night, she couple rescheduled her workshop of making voodoo dolls out of corncobs. They struck an arrangement and kept talking as they walked out of the room. He just stared into his pillow, thinking that no one could possibly believe the events that had unfolded throughout the night....