Pirate night

April 1, 2015

“Load up the cannons, me mateys!” I shouted to my crew, Calico Jax and Madman Moose.

It was pirate night, the first Friday of the month, and the little Beans and I were in our PJs and pirate hats on the couch eating popcorn by candlelight.

The smoke detector in the hallway beeped at annoyingly close intervals because the batteries were low.  And Daffy, the dog from hell, lazed on her pillow at my feet chewing on a rawhide.

Daffy DogSuddenly a black water balloon came hurling through the window and landed with a splat spraying water all over the dog from hell. The canine sprang into action barking her head off, and I followed behind her, looking none too formidable in my nightgown and bare feet.

“Billy!” I shouted at the window that was slightly ajar.

Billy is my boyfriend of 10 months. He’s a 42-year-old juvenile delinquent with shaggy salt and pepper hair and a slow, sexy grin. In the street light he stood wearing faded Levis and his old ratty Fish Naked t-shirt. He’d tied a navy bandana kerchief style around his head, presumably in honor of pirate night.

“Billy!” The little Beans hollered right behind me, delighted that he was crashing pirate night. I flipped on the overhead light.

Billy had been expressly told to stay away from pirate night this month.  Billy is a ne’er-do-well, and he’d stood me up the week before to drink beer and play poker with his buddies. I was still hacked off, which is why he’d been banned.

The problem with Billy, though, is that he wears those Levis so fine, and I’m a sucker for a stud muffin.

Jenny in love lust.

When he was sure that the only weapons present were the plastic sword I was holding and the dog from hell, Billy hoisted the window up further, tossed a rather large bag of M&Ms at the little Beans and then effortlessly slid in. He handed me a bottle of Mer Soleil and gave me a scratchy kiss on the cheek.

“Dude,” I said, pushing him away, “you’re still on my shit list…  But this is a good start.”

In the kitchen I uncorked the bottle and poured the wine into stemless glasses and turned on Van Morrison.  I handed Billy a glass.  A fracas in the living room over the M&Ms escalated, and I sighed.

Madman MooseJax had dumped the M&Ms into the bowl of popcorn, and Moose, who has a strict code of order, was none too pleased.  He was pelting his brother with chocolate and popcorn missiles.

“DESIST!” I bellowed in my mean mommy voice.

In the brief silence that always follows the mean mommy voice—as if they are shocked that I have it in me to make that much noise—the sound of Bernie’s old Ford Pinto could be heard rumbling into the drive of Maison Bean.

Bernie is the night manager at the Ladies Club, and if he was driving Papa home, it was a slow night and Papa was soused up on martinis.

When I opened the front door, I saw Papa in his kilt stumbling up the walk with Bernie ambling behind him.  Bernie, who is amazingly spry for someone who is old as dirt, was in his usual Hawaiian shirt, clashing madras shorts and flip flops.

“Billy,” Papa said through the gin fumes.  “What are you doing here?”

Moose threw an M&M.

“I invited him, Papa.”

“I can take you,” Papa said, ignoring me.

Geez Louise.

Papa and Billy looked at each other and nodded and sat down facing each other at the coffee table.  Papa flexed his fingers and then put his elbow on the table.

Unimpressed, Jax and Moose, who’d seen Papa and Billy arm wrestle more times than they could count in the last 10 months, resumed their missile war.  The dog from hell, who has an iron stomach and an unending appetite, was busy trying to clean up the mess.

Gloria began to play on the stereo and almost immediately Bernie’s cell phone sounded You Give Love a Bad Name, which meant that Mrs. Bernie was calling.  Mrs. Bernie is perpetually on the warpath with her spouse, and since Bernie refuses to wear his hearing aid, the rest of the world knows EVERY LAST DETAIL.

A siren rang from outside in the distance and the tempo of the smoke detector beep increased.

Bernie was shouting into his phone, and M&Ms and popcorn flew.

And suddenly in the midst of the uproar, everything went into a silent slow motion, and we all watched in horror as a blue M&M flew towards Papa’s head, going right into one of his big ol’ Grandma Bean ears.

Papa’s eyes got wide, and then he fell to the floor.

We all ran to him.  Daffy was licking his face.  Bernie had dropped his phone, and we could hear Mrs. Bernie shouting.  The little Beans were shaking him, and Billy had dropped down to check his pulse.

And then almost as quickly as he had fallen, Papa sat bolt upright and announced, “April Fools!”


No, I did not fall off the earth. I’ve just been busy. Hyacinth is in doggy heaven with Rooster. Evidently, she calls Moose on his toy cell phone. He says he’s going to build a rocket and go get them. That’s about all I can say about that. The bitch’s ashes are still on top of the refrigerator because I can’t bear to part with her yet. Daffy the Dog, aka Princess Daffodil Bean, is a 5-month-old mini Goldendoodle. She was a gag gift from Santa Claus. Her mother was a 60-lb golden retriever and her father, Romeo, was an 8 ½ pound toy poodle. And to answer your question, no, I do not know how that works.  Everyone is well—it’s just that life is careening forward insanely fast, and I can’t ever seem to catch my breath.  I miss blogging.

P.S.  Bernie is a figment of my imagination, and, unfortunately, so too is Billy.


Portia April 1, 2015 at 2:47 pm

Ha Ha! You Beans are the craziest people I know. Which is why I like y’all. Damn , I wish Billy was real. But I’d really rather meet Bernie; he sounds like a hoot, and you know that long gray hair makes my knees weak…….

Katie April 1, 2015 at 3:16 pm

I was so hoping you would post today!! Thanks for checking in.

Jenn April 1, 2015 at 4:06 pm

Portia: it takes one to know one!

Katie: thanks for checking in, and not forgetting us!

papa April 1, 2015 at 7:11 pm

Jenny, you could write a great bodice ripper but you got to get Billy a better job, a new car and a gentle horse to ride into the sunset.

Jenn April 1, 2015 at 11:09 pm

Papa: Sir William. The duke. Dark, brooding, mysterious. That guy?

Kristy K. James April 2, 2015 at 8:08 pm

I would have commented on this right after I read it, but I’d just gotten up and wasn’t quite awake yet. So I drove to the DMV instead – to renew my license and tags. Better to go there when you’re too sleepy than to sound like a lunatic in a blog comment. 😀

GLAD to see you back, Jenny!!! I’ve checked here and Twitter periodically to see if I missed something … but your joke was worth the wait. You really have a good idea for a story in this one. You should write it. Billy sounds like the perfect hero to me. Especially a pirate hero. 🙂

Jenn April 3, 2015 at 11:44 am

Pshaw, Kristy. I can hardly write a blog, much less a story. You’re a peach! I’ve missed you.

Irene April 3, 2015 at 1:23 pm

HI PAPA!!! Hope all those Beans aren’t drivin’ ya crazy!!! Or is it the other way around?

SO good to see you bloggin’ girl!! You have a vivid imagination! Hope the little ones are doin’ well in and out of school! Sorry about Hyacinth and the Rooster! Lost one of mine last November. SO hard to let go! Lots of love and happiness to you with the new ones!

I was gonna say, if someone threw a water balloon into my livingroom no matter WHO it was I’d be throwin’ the dog at him, as well as a real sword! I thought “Wow, she handled that well”.

I know time is hard to find with little ones and a job! But don’t be a stranger! Love your blog of life posts! ((((Hugs to you and Papa))))

Shannon April 7, 2015 at 8:29 pm

Oh, I’ve missed your posts! And I’m very disappointed Billy isn’t real. I’d kinda like my own Billy. But without the water balloons.

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