Winifred, the Early Years

More back story on Winifred Dourooski!

     Winifred Dourooski poured another drink out of the bottom of the fifth of Sour Jack's Lemon-Whiskey, lit yet-another cigarette out of the pack of Lucky Camel's, swirled the liquid in the ceramic mug in her hand around, and sat back down on the camp chair, her lucky camp chair.  She was finished with work on her "Dear Winifred" column in Ink Wanderings Newspaper, and half in the bag; no, better make that completely in the bag, she was reminiscing how she became a household product---err---name.  Bitterly, she thought household product is right!  Every month in-breeder morons from every walk of life asked her moronic questions about moronic problems.   She was sick of all of them.  She was buzzing heavily, and let her mind return to days gone by.

 

 

     It all started downhill when she met Bartholomew Dourooski the 3rd.  Before then, she'd been a always-smiling, look-forward-to-the-day kind of gal.  Now, because of Bartholomew and his asinine, lazy way of living, she'd been sucked down the shitter to his level.  At first, she'd been ecstatic; here she was, a girl from a small town, who knew less-than-nothing about big-city living, totally naive, and 'worldly' Bartholomew, who knew everything about everything liked her.  Boy, how wrong she had been.  It had started out wonderfully.  He had introduced her to "culture", or so she had believed; then they got married; turns out that what he'd actually introduced her to was a life of living hell.

 

     She remembered with anger and regret the night after she'd been dating Bartholomew for 6 months.  He came to her, saying he was finally ready to introduce her to his father. 

 

     She was on pins and needles the night they were going over to Bartholomew the 2nd's house.  Bartholomew the 3rd had told her his father could be kind of intimidating at first, and she wanted to make a good impression.   When the doorbell rang, she nervously checked her appearance in the mirror in the living room.  She instantly thought, 'maybe I should have worn the blue dress; oh well it's too late now!', her husband was already opening the door.  In strode a hard-looking man with steel-gray hair, and piercing blue eyes that Winifred thought could see all of her misdeeds and flaws.  Bartholomew the 3rd said,

 

     "Honey, this is my father; Dad, this pretty little thing is my wife, Winifred."

 

     "Hello, Winifred, nice to meet you." 

 

     "Thank you sir, nice to meet you too."

 

     "Can I get you something to drink, Winifred, Bartholomew?"

 

     "Oh, that would be great; maybe a white wine? " she replied.  He just shook his head and said,

 

     "Nothing for me thanks."

 

     "One glass of white wine it is then; I'll be right back with that," and with that he walked away into the kitchen.  As soon as he had disappeared,  Winifred turned to her husband and whispered,

 

    "I thought you said he could be kind of intimidating and abrasive; he seems pleasant enough."

 

     "Don't let him fool you, he's casting a critical eye over everything you say and do," he whispered in reply.

 

     "I think your negativity is misplaced."

 

     "Oh, you think so?"

 

     

     After a few minutes, Bartholomew the 2nd returned from the kitchen with her wine.  Apparently, he'd had several drinks in the kitchen, for his face was flushed, and his eyes were a little red.  "Here you go, Winifred, and might I say, that's an interesting dress you're wearing.  A mite burlap sacky, but with the temperature, I suppose your were trying for comfort, not looks."

 

     Winifred squirmed, feeling very uncomfortable.  She'd dressed to impress, but apparently she'd failed.  He continued,

 

     "I must say, Bartholomew, she's very natural looking; no make-up to get in the way of her healthy complexion; well, not healthy so much as natural."

 

     Suddenly, she was looking for a place to hide from his piercing gaze.  She exchanged a look with her husband, who raised his eyebrow as if to say, "See?"

 

     Then, his father continued as if she wasn't even there, "Well, I must say Bartholomew she looks sturdy enough."  

 

     "Sturdy enough for what, Dad?"

 

     "Oh you know, to bear all the children."

 

     Children?  thought Winifred.  They'd never discussed having children; but obviously Bartholomew and Dad had discussed it plenty!  She felt the red-hot flush of embarrassment spread over her face.

 

     "Dad, remember we had that talk about 'inappropriate'?   This would be what I was referring to."

 

     His steely blue eyes reflected anger and he replied, "Screw you, boy, do you know who you're talking to?  I'm your father, and I WILL be treated with respect!"

 

     Winifred could see that her husband was upset and angry, and she expected an outraged outburst, but instead, her husband seemed to deflate right before her eyes. 

 

     "Yes, Father; I'm sorry, and you're right and I'm wrong."

 

     She'd learned to see her husband in a new light that evening, and not a very flattering light at that.  No, it was the first glimpse she'd had into the s**t life she now led.  Her husband was a puss in a suit, and her new father-in-law was a total prick. 

 

 

     A couple of years later, as cynicism and rudeness replaced wide-eyed innocence, she'd been visiting her father-in-law's office with Bartholomew; her father-in-law owned and operated Ink Wanderings, a newspaper for, for, idiots and clueless morons, and was reading out loud through a letter on his desk while waiting for his highness to bless them with his presence.  She had quickly learned that her husband's description of his father as being 'a little' intimidating was an understatement.  She walked on egg shells around him, especially if he'd had a few drinks.  She'd been in a horrible mood, for whatever reason, probably something her husband had done, wrong as usual,

 

     "Dear Barbara, I recently got into a huge argument with my sister; she wanted a patterned tablecloth for our parents, while I insisted on one solid color. It has gotten way out of control, to the point that we're no longer on speaking terms.  Tell me how I can make up with her, as I really miss her; signed Outcast From Sisterhood."

 

     She had said to her husband, "I'll tell you what advice I'd give to her, I'd reply, "Dear Outcast From Sisterhood, I recommend you tell your sister go tell someone who gives a s**t, because I could care less.  I mean, a tablecloth, really?  THIS is what you wasted a letter to me on?  If this is your idea of a crisis, you've got ONE pathetic life.  From now on, don't waste my time with your bullshit "personal crisis," and only write me if something 'real' bad happens.  A tablecloth indeed!  Winifred."

 

     As her husband and her were exchanging looks and laughs, her father-in-law stormed into the room.  "What the hell was that?"

 

     Winifred exchanged a nervous glance with Bartholomew the 3rd.  Apparently he'd had a few.  They both figured they were in trouble, and her husband said a cautious, "What was what?"

 

     "What Winifred just said."

 

     "I'm sorry," Winifred said, "the letter was just sitting here, and...wait a minute; how did you know I said anything?  You were in the other room."

 

     "Ah, the transmit button must be jammed on the intercom; I overheard everything, I couldn't help it."

 

     "Oh," replied Winifred, although she was thinking, 'Bullshit; you hoped we'd say something bad about you,' "I was just messing around; I'm sorry."

 

     "No, I thought it was funny; the very answer we should be giving."

 

     "Well thank you, but I didn't mean to step on Barbara's shoes."

 

     "There IS no Barbara; I've been answering them myself.  I tell you what; how would you like the job permanently?"

 

    

     With her simple yes answer, she had plunged over the cliff into a sort of loathing underworld.  At first, she had been flattered and excited; not realizing just how much she'd come to hate and dread when it was mail time, because she had learned the hard way just how pathetic the readers of Ink Wandering's lives were, and just how hateful working with her father-in-law, with his overbearing bullshit manner, and her bullshit editor, would turn out to be.  She'd fooled herself into thinking that her father-in-law wouldn't be so bad; boy had she been wrong.  She had to work side-by-side with Mr. Prick and Mr. Dick every second of every day, because not only was she Dear Winifred, but her duties were expanded to include Fashion Roundup, Society Galore, and The Fishing Report.  Okay, not that last one, but it may as have been.  Between her father-in-law, her husband, and her pain-in-the-a*s editor, she was going absolutely ape-s**t with frustration.  She was surrounded by mental Sloths.  Did anyone besides her have their brains not hidden by a*s-flesh?

 

     She lit another cigarette from the old one, pried her thoughts from past-unhappiness, and came screaming into the light of present-unhappiness.

 

 

The End

 

     

 

 

Reviews

[A. H. Pinley]

Much better! Now is your character married Or just dating?

[Michael Stevens]

I thought I mentioned a husband, but I'm seeing cross-eyed now (even more than usual!), so I could be wrong!

[Michael Stevens]

Oh, I reread it for about the 678th time, and I see what you mean, so I hope I cleared it up!

[A. H. Pinley]

Bitter, cold and numb. Dull senses. I think the conflict between the second and third happens to quick. Take your time exposing the tension that's there. Maybe allow it to seep out a little at a time over the introduction at the front door and over dinner then dessert. Maybe have the second criticize the layout of the house. Obviously something well out of their control. Nice look into who Winifred is.

[Michael Stevens]

Thanks, and you may be correct; I'll take another look at it!

[Michael Stevens]

I've made a few changes, see what you think.

[Marie]

Well, tiy;v rounded out a complete story of Winifred...what she was and what she became...

[Michael Stevens]

Yeah it did; now we know why she's so negative; we may not understand, but at least now we know!

[loom]

Nice to see some background. It fleshes out your character.

[Michael Stevens]

Thank you; sort of follows up 'Winifred Dourooski"!