It’s been a while since you’ve come over. Must be near six months now.

Want some tea? I just reheated this morning’s pot. Sure glad you don’t take sugar, I’m fresh out.

I just can’t believe everything that’s been going on here. It’s like some bad movie. Remember that fancy girl my boy brought home? Well, he up and married her. I know, I know. You don’t have to say it. I always thought he was smarter than that. You do your best to raise a kid, and hope he turns out okay, but you never know. Must have his daddy’s brains. Joe don’t know his butt from a hole in the ground.

Don’t you go repeating that, either. That’d be all I’d need.

I knew that little twit was trouble the moment I set eyes on her. What with her high and mighty ways and her fancy talking. I’ve never seen someone so uppity. She always thought she was something special, just ‘cause her daddy was so rich and owned a big house over on Aspen Avenue. She was always bragging about the new stove her daddy bought her mama, and the new set of silver.

Pah! Who needs a new stove anyway. This here old cooktop has done me and mine for longer than I can even remember. Not that I wouldn’t want a new stove, just that Joe’s such a tightwad. Be happy with what you’ve got, that’s what I always said.

As for silver, well that’s just a waste of good money, that’s all that is. Those people, they’re always wasting stuff. I’ve never seen the likes of it. Her mama had me for tea a few months back, and she served me on her fancy dishes with the little pink flowers all around the edges. You wouldn’t believe it. She served some kind of fiddly little sandwiches with no crusts. No crusts! And little cakes and tarts, and she called them ‘dainties’. And she put three tea bags in that little silver tea pot. Three bags. I’ve never seen such waste. I can make a tea bag last a week or more, if I’m careful. What’s the matter? Something floating in your tea? Want me to get a spoon to scoop it out with? You’re sure? Okay then.

It makes me so mad. He never should’ve married that tart. I don’t know why on earth he brought that girl home. What could’ve possessed him to do it? Me and Joe have done everything we could to give him the best possible life. He never lacked for nothing. Me and Joe, we wear the same old clothes for years on end, but he and the other kids always had a new coat for Christmas at least once every couple of years. So what if we bought all their clothes at the Sally Anne? Clothes is clothes, that’s what I always said.

He should’ve been happy with his lot, but oh no, he’s got to get hitched up with Miss High and Mighty. And all of a sudden nothing’s good enough for him anymore. He starts looking around and sneering at everything like he was born to be a king or something. Criticizing his daddy when he comes home from the mine, all covered in black and stinking. So what if he stinks? Everybody stinks sometimes, and it’s honest work. He can’t tell me her daddy never stinks. Well maybe he don’t. He’s got that cushy job at that fancy banking office downtown. The only thing he stinks of, is money. Banks. Pah! Don’t trust them. Me, I just hide my money inside that old coffee tin in the. . . well never mind.

Of course I trust you! I never said I didn’t. Just don’t like to be yapping about stuff that should be private. It's safe as safe can be, and no thief would ever find it, no siree. Not even Joe knows where I hide the money, he don’t even know I got any. He thinks it’s all spent. Every week he comes home and gives me his check, and I pay the rent, and buy the groceries and the beer and squirrel the rest away in my hiding spot. Long as he’s got his beer, he’s happy. There must be near two hundred dollars in there by now.

Do you want more tea? No? Why not? Something wrong with it? You haven’t even finished that one yet! Well, why didn’t you just tell me you weren’t thirsty? I wouldn’t have wasted it. Well, Joe can drink it, he’ll never know the difference.

Now where was I? Oh yeah, the tart. He brought that girl home just as proud as proud can be and he expected us to just trip all over ourselves with joy. Like we’d be just so happy for him.

Did you know you snort when you laugh? No, I’m not insulting you. I just never noticed it before. Don’t get your shit in a knot. I never meant anything by it.

Anyway, so he gets us invited over to her mama’s for a fancy dinner, and her mama and daddy were just dripping honey. I’ve never seen the likes. And her mama, I knew she was looking at my dress and sneering inside, ‘cause it ain’t no Oscar De-Someone-or-other dress. Well, it’s my best and it comes from honest money, not from stealing other people’s money like all them banks do. They’re just a bunch of crooks, them banks. So I just stuck my nose up in the air and sneered right back. And then they got to talking about the wedding plans, and I just about fell over what with all the money they was gonna spend on it. A big fancy dress, and all these people, and flowers, and more food than I cook in a whole year. Such waste. If it’d been up to me, I’d have said to have a Justice do it and save a whole whack of money. But oh no, they’ve got to waste all they can.

Foolishness. If they really want to spread all that money around, they could have given some to me. Yeah, I know. Fat chance.

I told him that they were gonna come to a bad end, but he didn’t believe me. He should’ve listened to his mama. Mama knows best, I always said.

I just don’t know what got into that boy. They got married and had their big fancy wedding. Didn’t you get the invitation? I made my boy send one out to all our friends. Out of town, eh? Hmm. Oh well, you didn’t miss much.

I had to buy me a new dress ‘cause he said he was ashamed to have me come in my old "rags" he called them. Huh. He never complained before. Anyway, I returned it the day after the wedding and got my money back. Had to work out a stain or two first, but it looked as good as new. Never even took the price tag off, just covered it with a shawl. No one even knew.

So, the next thing you know, he’s working eighteen hours a day just to pay for all the stuff she wanted. "I have to give her the life she’s accustomed to, mama," he said. Fancy talk. He just wore himself out working all those hours. And herself, Miss Priss, sitting at home eating her bonbons, getting fatter every day.

She got herself knocked up not long after the wedding. And I thought to myself, that’s all that boy needs, another mouth to feed. I figure, if they had that baby, he’d never leave her. He’d live his whole life working his tail off to keep her in sweets and fancy clothes. My boy deserves better than that.

Next thing you know, she comes moaning to me cause her mama’s out of town, gone to Hawaii or some such place. And Miss High and Mighty is feeling poorly and needs someone to wait on her. Hand and foot. Like I got nothing better to do with my time than wait on some little rich brat. "I ain’t no nurse," I told my boy, and he looked at me and said, "No, you’re a mama," and tried to make me feel all guilty.

Well, I ain’t no dummy, I know an opportunity when I see one. So I says to her, "Sure, I’ll come over and help you out." And she was gushing at the mouth with her "Thank you, Mama Rose." I wanted to wring her scrawny neck. She’s got some nerve calling me ‘mama’.

So I went over to their apartment. I hated that place, what with all the new-fangled gadgetry, and brand new appliances. Her mama and daddy bought them a new fridge and stove for a wedding gift. Close your mouth, you might drip on my tablecloth. I didn’t say you slobber, I was just teasing. Touchy, ain’t you?

They couldn’t stop talking about that stupid fridge and stove. Nobody said a word about the gift we gave them. His daddy worked hard to afford a new pot, but was they thankful? No sir, not even a how do you do. And I don’t think that little witch ever used it, neither. Every time I went there, I looked, and there it was, hiding at the back of a cupboard. Gathering dust. I haven’t had me a new pot in longer than I can remember, and she hid it away like it’s a piece of trash.

Well, here I am running at the mouth again, where was I? Oh, yeah, I went over to their fancy apartment, and there she was lying on the couch moaning and complaining of morning sickness. Like she’s the only woman in the world who’s ever had it. Pah! I had me five kids, and I never complained even once about feeling poorly. I had to get up in the morning and cook Joe’s oatmeal, feed the kids, and get the ones who were old enough out the door to school. I never had time to complain about nothing. But I ain’t no fancy girl, neither. I guess they figure since all my kids are grown up and gone that I’ve got lots of time to help Miss Fancy pants.

I’m getting to it! Just keep your britches on.

Anyway.

I went over every morning, and fixed her some oatmeal. I got the best oatmeal recipe in the world.

No, you don’t want the recipe.

She wanted it with lots of brown sugar and maple syrup. They had real maple syrup. I ain’t got no use for it. It’s too sweet for me. Molasses will do fine for me and mine, but oh no, Her Highness just had to have her real maple syrup. Fancy girl. I don’t know what my boy ever seen in that tart.

Well, she ended up getting sicker and sicker, and finally, they put her in the hospital. The doctors, they said they didn’t know what was wrong with her. Her tummy was aching, and she was bleeding some too.

My boy, he sat at her bedside day and night, just watching her get paler and paler. I told him it’d be for the best if the good Lord just up and took her. He just sat there and said nothing. I know he didn’t believe me, but one day, he’ll say, "You were right, mama. You always knew best."

Well, she finally died, and they buried her just last week. Now my boy can find himself a proper wife, one who knows her place in life, and won’t expect so much from my poor boy. No, he’ll be fine. He just doesn’t know it yet.

So, tell me about your family. Is your daughter still with that jerk? He’ll be the death of her, you know. Don’t look so surprised. I know he beats on her, word gets around in a place like this. There, there, don’t cry. Need a hankie? It’s clean, don’t worry.

I could help you with that. No, with your girl’s husband.

I am not talking in circles.

I can help you. Sure I can.

Depends though.

How bad do you want to get rid of him? That much, eh? I know the feeling. You have to promise not to tell. Well, it’s the oatmeal, you see. I’ve got a secret ingredient. You got yourself a nut grinder? Well, you can borrow mine. It’s old, but it still works.

No, not for nuts. Who’d put nuts in oatmeal? Glass. Yep. Grind it fine, it’s got to be real fine. Don’t you look at me like that. You asked. Besides, he deserves it. Piece of crap. No woman should have to put up with that garbage. You love your girl, don’t you?

Well, then? We’ve got to protect our own.

No, he won’t even know it’s there. Don’t you worry. That little twit told me I made the best oatmeal she ever ate. Now she’s six feet under. Guess you could say my cooking is ‘to die for’.

Don’t mess with mama, that’s what I always said.

Author Bio

Lisa Farewell lives a heartbeat away from the beautiful Canadian Rocky Mountains with her husband, their two children and a blue-point Siamese. She is a full time mother and writer and is currently at work on a novel set in Eighteenth century Alberta. When Lisa is not teaching her children or writing she can be found at the local archery club, reading a book or gazing at the mountains.

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