I gave the Ol’bat a devilish eye, but stayed my tongue. I enjoyed, more, watching rather than doing. And the prospect of sleeping outside was not worth giving good ol’ Dolly there a coronary.
“Oh yes, good stew,” the toothless woman jabbed her finger in the pot, and stuffed it in her face like it was the first meal she’d had in month.
My eyes, however, remained locked on the dancing blue flame that heated the crock pot; like a party of fairies dancing in rhythmic grace below the night’s meal. My pulse raced, and looking up at Charlie, I found myself slowing getting aroused; an awkward thing for a sheltered girl of only 17.
“I said, are you hungry?” Dolly shouted. Her ratty old voice brought me from my fantasy, and I looked at her and smiled,
“I can eat!” i nodded, “but i thought you wanted me out of the house,”
“Don’t push her,” charlie suggested. I shrugged. The old broad was as nuts as granola!
“Nonsense!” said Dolly, “How could you taste my good stew out there! Sit damn it!”
I laughed at Charlie, “See?”