warm butter

When Jon was a little boy--they called him JJ in those days--his parents were very rich. His father was a wealthy industrialist. His mother ran the household with the aid of an army of servants. They had lots of dinner parties and receptions, in those days, his parents did.

JJ and his brothers and sisters had everything that money could buy--all the latest toys and games and clothes and music. Holidays in faraway places. Lots of treats and nice things all the time---whatever their little hearts desired. They even had a special nanny to look after them and tell them stories. She was old and fat and her bosoms smelled of warm butter. She had a lovely kind smile even though her face was all wrinkled.

And when Daddy came home in the evenings from his factories and warehouses, he would sit in his armchair in front of a roaring fire in the gigantic fireplace in the huge living room that had the stuffed heads of animals on the walls. Daddy would sit and read his newspaper and do some paperwork he always brought home with him from the office, and pick his nose, and wipe the snot on the newspaper in an absent-minded sort of way. And he would look up from his newspaper to see if anyone was looking at him, but he wouldn't stop doing it even if someone was watching him.

The kids would get very excited when Daddy got home in the evening. They would jump up and down wanting to tell him about the triumphs and tragedies of their day.

But Mommy would always say, "No, my darlings, leave Dad alone to relax and read his paper in peace."

And the kids would be very disappointed, but obediently they would leave the room and go to the kitchen to find nanny in her starched white apron and bosoms that smelled of warm butter. And they would sit in her lap and tell her their stories and she would reward them with little treats that she would extrude from a special organ at the top of her head.

It was after JJ's ninth birthday that the trouble started. There were some problems with Daddy's businesses. They were not making as much money as before. He would come home in the evening, and sit in his armchair, and drink whiskey, but he didn't read the paper any more. He still picked his nose, though. He would sit in the armchair and talk to Mommy about the business. And their voices would get louder and louder, and they argued about money, about buying things, and about stopping buying things. And Mommy would get up and go to her bedroom, and Daddy would stay in the living room and drink whiskey.

And Nanny would feed the kids and put them to bed.

Every day, things seemed to get a little worse. Daddy drank more and more whiskey. The arguments with Mommy got louder and louder. Sometimes Daddy smashed things. Sometimes Mommy would cry, softly to herself, when she thought no-one was looking.

Then one day a very strange thing happened. Daddy got home from work in the evening. His face was red and he smelled of whiskey. He didn't go to the living room. He went to the playroom, where all the toys and games and stuff were kept, and where the kids spent most of their time. And he got to the playroom and he kissed all the children one by one. Then he started to tell them what had happened that day. His voice was funny, and he was crying.

Then Mommy came into the room and started hitting Daddy, and screaming at him. "Leave them alone," she screamed, "leave them alone in peace!"

Daddy walked out of the playroom. He was still crying. He went to the kitchen, and hugged nanny. Her bosoms smelled of warm butter. Daddy started to tell her what had happened that day, and then they both fell over. And she rewarded Daddy with a little treat that she extruded from a special organ at the top of her head.

Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.

wicked and sick (refresh/home)