Mrs. Bambi Knows by Chris Mason

Author:Chris Mason
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, women, humorous, sports humor
Publisher: Chris Mason

Chapter 11: Dirty Dog

From the Hood River Examiner

Friday, June 16, 1995

Mrs. Bambi Knows

Who’s snooping whom?

Dear Mrs. Bambi:

I recently discovered to my horror that my oldest and dearest friend—I’ll call her Beth—is living a double life. She’s an accountant here in town with a great job. She has a doting husband, two wonderful children, a nice home. You would think her life was perfect.

Last week I was in the jewelry store, checking out the new watches, when I saw Beth come in. Before I had a chance to go over and say hi, I saw her drop a gold chain necklace down her bra. Then she walked out without paying, as cool as iced salmon.

I was too shocked to say anything to the store manager, but I started following her to see what else she might be up to. Here are some excerpts from my journal.

Wednesday, 2:47 p.m.: B makes phone call from pay phone near library. Drives to motel, rents room, enters room. Strange man drives up, knocks on B’s door. B kisses him, lets him inside! One hour later stranger opens door, hands her a wad of cash, leaves.

Thursday, 9:19 p.m.: B walks down Cascade, stops, looks both ways. Doesn’t see me hiding behind tree. Pulls long piece of metal out of purse, jimmies open car door. Not her car! Leans down in front seat, hot-wires car, drives off.

Friday, 4:32 p.m.: B leaves her office hanging on her boss. They get into his car, drive to same motel she was in Wednesday, get room! Two hours later, B comes out alone. Looks happy and flushed.

Saturday, 5:51 a.m.: B works down her street, picking through neighbors’ trash cans. Keeps some items, stuffing them in blue canvas Gucci bag. Flings garbage into street, leaves can lids on ground.

As you can see, Beth is clearly a shoplifter, call girl, car thief, adulterer, and I don’t know what you call it—a bum? What should I do? Should I tell her husband? Should I confront her? Maybe she’s a psycho. Should I call the police? I thought I was her best friend, but it’s clear I don’t know her at all. I don’t see how I can face her at our next weekly lunch. Help!

—Ms. Sherlock

Dear Snoop Hound of the Baskervilles:

I’d like to help you, but I don’t have a psychiatrist’s license. You need some professional assistance, girl. I suggest you drag yourself pronto into the office of someone who can prescribe some tasty drugs and maybe a long stay in a nice hospital with bars on the windows.

Or, plan B, this is a gag, right? In that case, I think you should still follow the advice above, because you are a very, very sick person.

Or, option 3, you’re serious and the events you described really happened. In that case, please see the advice above. Don’t you have anything better to do than follow your friends around night and day? Be like uranium: get a half-life.

Also, Beth honey, if your friend isn’t fried or joking, please stay away from me.

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