She Come In Here and Change Things

She come in here and change things.

She come in here and change things. I didn’t like it, no how. Pretty big young thing like that don’t belong here. My mates got all googley-eyed and let her take the whole place apart and put it back like she likes it. It’s enough to turn anybody mean.

She come wandering out of the woods with her hair all still smooth and shiny in that proper bow put there by a maid that very morning. All the others run to meet her like she was a ice cream truck, I swear. When I seen her, I have to say it did hit me. I’ll be up front about that, sure. Skin seemed like it’d break if you thumped it – like milk glass. It was that smooth. She’d been walking for miles, so there was that glow, like the red blush on a rare white peach. And tall, well, we hadn’t seen a regular woman in years. Whew! As if that face and hair didn’t have me already, the sheer size of her body almost made me pass out, like I’d drunk three beers right in a row with no stopping.

And then Doc asked her to stay the night. As if we didn’t all know what he had in mind. But she was high-tone, real classy, so who knows what government agency was on her trail right now. We kept our paws off, but, boy, that was one long night.

In the morning, I figured she’d be sleeping in, but she set out a mess of fried taters and eggs with biscuits and red-eye gravy. And I’m wondering where she learned to cook like this if she’s so high and mighty. She told us it was her ma that died a couple of years back. Then, of course, the dad goes bonkers and marries some harpie half his age and strokes out on the honeymoon if you get my drift, leaving this teenage angel type with the Devil’s girlfriend. I can figure that pretty soon, this kid is chapping the stepmother’s cheeks because she’s just so good you want to slap her sometimes. Not that I would do that; I’m just saying.

So this bony bird gets one of her henchmen to take the girl into the woods and leave her. I personally think he was supposed to ice her, but he still had a little good left in him, so he just left her. Who knows? Anyway, she was using our cottage as a hideout, which is all fine and dancy, excepting she’s taking away our freedom! So when she shows up, the other guys just slobber all over themselves and give her the run of the whole house. Sure, it looks great. Sure it smells like Mr. Clean Mountain Breeze in the can. Sure, we have our own maid and cook, and what’s more, the chick actually digs it. She’s a cleaning and cooking engine, dude. When she showed up in that yellow and blue satin dress, I took her for uptown. But that girl’s better than a whole van full of merry Maids.

Anyway, I do agree she’s good at it. That’s not my point at all. My point is, I don’t like clean. I like my crap in piles, not neatly stowed in drawers and folders. I like sniffing what’s on the floor to see if I can wear it another day. I like not having to tell anybody when I’m coming home. I do not like somebody telling me I’ve had enough beer. Enough beer is I’m unconscious so I can’t drink anymore. I would willingly sacrifice the food and the pleasant blue toilet water just to be able to stay out until daybreak when I want to.

And the worst thing is, she gets to put all her crap in our bathroom! The other guys think it’s sexy to have bikinis and bras hanging all over creation, but I can already feel myself losing chest hair. Doc’s even let her do what he calls “re imagining” of the great room. If she lit all the candles in the den, we’d have a mess of Druids in here in fifteen minutes waiting for a ritual. There are also beads hanging from every light source in the cottage, including Sleepy’s nightlight and Dopey’s laser pointer. If you sit on the sofa, you’d better bring a GPS ‘cause there’s no way in Hades you’ll find your way out of the Pillow Forest of No Return.

I’ve tried to talk them but it ain’t no use. Dopey just sits and looks at her, drooling. Doc scrambles to do whatever she asks. Bashful stays embarrassed and won’t say word one. Sneezy keeps his finger under his nose all the time now so he won’t look like an idiot. Happy brings her wildflowers every day. He should be renamed “Hippy.” Sleepy - well, he’s never any help with anything.

Yes, she’s sweet; yes, she’s a good cook. But I’m done with her. I’m e-mailing the prince from the kingdom next door. I hope he’s got the patience of Job.