WEIRD & WONKY WORLD WRITING CHALLENGE

Sin Twisters

         I'm not sure if the cigarette smoke has further addled her brains, but Merrilee never indulged in that stinking habit when we were younger. When did she start to spew her mixed up words? I seem to recall certain incidents from our childhood. Maman shrugged them off as Merry's Mirths. Words spilled from her lips in a tumbling torrent and bounced willy-nilly, resurfacing with new pronunciations.

         She may have been about six when she refused to leave the house one day unless she wore her cat flap. Oh, how she stomped her feet and shrieked at the top of her lungs. Everything was thrown from the front hallway closet and presented to her. We had no clue she wished to wear the flat cap, or as others referred to it, a beret. I giggle now, but poor Maman was ready to tear her hair out.

         Every Sunday our family sat down to a roast beef dinner served with parrots and keys. Papa guffawed each time and mimed pulling feathers from his teeth. I'll admit it made ordinary carrots and peas more fun. Plain ol' peas needed that je ne sais quoi.

         Merrilee and I still call our favourite candy by the title she bestowed upon it a lifetime ago. I prefer the green ones and sister will opt for the red ones. Belly jeans, anyone? Of course, we are not speaking about those atrocious low-hip, belly-baring denims that young women flounce around in nowadays.

         The verbal faux pas saved our bacon a few times. People didn't know what to say when my sibling blurted something. It's difficult to remain angry when confronted with nonsensical explanations. We had our fair share of conflicts with the neighbourhood kids. I howled with laughter when Merrilee defended our behaviour with this classic. She rebutted an accusation with it's a lack of pies. So, because of a dessert favourite we were vindicated?

         She and I live together now. We're officially senior citizens. Sometimes, our trains of thought steam out of the station without us. Or is it our stains of theme ? Could it be teams sought? I will admit connecting an idea to my actual speech is often a strain. Am I becoming like my sister?

         Just the other day my gaffe sparked an extended period of bemusement for Merrilee. She spluttered and then wheezed, so much so that her cigarette extinguished itself before collapsing as a pile of ash on her lap. I was forced to pause my observations and pound her on the back. She waved off the glass of water I fetched, but accepted the proffered tissue for her watery eyes.

         "Oh my God, Millicent. I cannot believe you just said that with a straight face. Didn't you hear yourself? As if."

         I may have huffed a wee bit. What could I have said? I recall describing some construction next door. It's usually a pretty straight forward thing.

         "Don't you remember what you said? You put this strange image in my head. It was bass awkward . Really."

         This threw me for a temporary loop. Ah, ass backward. A favourite phrase of Papa's and frowned upon by Maman.

         "Well, out with it. Just what did I say?"

         Merrilee began to crow anew.

         "You claimed Joe put a new roof under his garage. Can you picture that? Under. Not quite the building code for this area, eh?"

         My cheeks reddened and I shook my head. She knew what I meant. It was a simple slip of the tongue. I rarely spoke like that.

         Apparently, my sister's memory differed. She slapped her leg and refreshed my recollection.

         "Last week your words stunned poor Joe into silence. You were making a point about barbecue condiments . You lectured that there was too much ketchup in ketchup. Oh, Millicent. Did you intend to argue against the sugar content? I couldn't help it. I wiggled and gaggled."

         Okay, okay. Perhaps my thoughts missed a train track, or two. Maybe my caboose didn't always follow the engine. The passengers jostling together in the car often spoke at the same time. Those ideas tried to ride on the same ticket. Wait, why am I stuck thinking about a train? Oh, right, the train of thought thing. I felt a familiar, sharp elbow jab me.

         Merrilee offered this sage advice.

         "The comedian George Carlin said it best. Don't sweat the petty things and don't pet the sweaty things."

         She and he had a point. I did the only thing I could do, I nodded. Well, I also tittered. Imagine stroking perspiring things. Gross. Merrilee gave me the side eye and soon we were both gasping for air as we chuckled.

         When she could breathe normally Merrilee nudged me again. "Quit your golly lagging. It's forecast to roar with pain soon."

         I sighed and considered her earnest visage. She was trying I told myself, emphasis on trying.

         "Why pray tell are you informing me of this? Yes, I do feel the odd ache when it rains, but how is that relevant today?"

         "Did you not rsvp to that seniors' picnic? Don't you want to see that fart smella? I know I do."

         Now I knew that Merrilee was messing with me. Her obvious wink was over the top campy. That had been our code for desirable male companions . It never failed to raise a fit of laughter. Our form of language still stood the test of time. Who would understand us if not for each other? We had an unbreakable bond. This whole living together again was starting to grow on me. It was like old times and how appropriate for two old sisters.

         "C'mon, Millicent. Let's hop on our well boiled icicle and start pedaling. That rain really is not far off. Hurry up!"

          Of course, the idea of travelling by bike was just a metaphor. I owned a perfectly serviceable car that would suffice. I hurried into the house and snatched the keys.

         I could not resist hollering at my twin sibling.

         "The sin twisters ride again. Let's go."

         1008 words

         Spoonerism Day