Dorrie.
“I may be allergic,” says Dr. Dorrie, “but I’ve definitely got a way with dogs. So it’s Floyd, huh? Come ‘ere Floyd,” he calls, patting his knee.
I give Floyd a look that says if you go to him I’ll tie bows in your hair.
Floyd ignores me and streaks out of the kitchen in a blur of blueness right onto Dr. Dorrie’s lap.
“Hey boy…wow, you’re fast. Almost as fast as my dog. Maybe faster.”
Dr. Dorrie scratches behind Floyd’s ears, and his eyes land on the rose tattoo.
“What? Is this dog a member of the Russian Mafia?”
Floyd whimpers and licks Dr. Dorrie’s hand and face and sits in his lap until Dr. Dorrie breaks out into a full blown sneezing attack and has to place him on the floor.
Around nine, we call it a night. Before Dr. Dorrie goes home, he bangs on the banister a little to see if it’s hollow and then pokes his head in the kitchen to say good-bye to Floyd, promising to bring him a doggie treat on his next visit.
Next visit? Why would he come back?
Tonight was a close call.
A strange night, too.
13
Doyle Stubb
Mavis
Manchild, he done gave up on me cuz I quit talkin to him. He’s got hisself a new love now. Eleanor done made the mistake of feelin sorry for him and bought him a iPad to get him real professional, so he could get a regular job. First he watched a whole bunch of porno on the iPad, then he hocked it at the pawn shop. It sure did make him feel loved to get a present.
I’m fixin the food for the Share time when I hear Dr. Dorrie talkin out in the Great Room. “Hey there, Yankee!” I yell out the kitchen door. “Come on in and make yourself at home.”
I told Dr. D he can call me Trailer Trash, since I like to call him Yankee. But he gets this real bothered look on his face and won’t do it. Last time he said, “Mavis, I could never call you that. Trash should never be applied to anyone .” (He takes it real serious.) “If I had to call you Trailer anything it’d be Trailer Treasure .”
That’s real sweet and all, but he’s got to learn to take a joke. Loosen up, baby. And if you’re gonna give me a nickname with Trailer in it, I’m very partial to Twilight Trailer cuz I did read them Vampire books. And they was gooood.
Dr. D swings open the kitchen door. He’s been comin to the Share Group for a few weeks now and taken to comin early to help me fix supper and set up the furniture. He’s got on a t-shirt and jeans. He likes to pull up a chair at the kitchen table and talk while I’m cookin. He’s told me a little about hisself.
First off, Dr. D was going to be an architect. He went to some fancy design college in Chicago. But when his mama, who he was devoted to, got real sick and died of some kind of lady cancer, he decided to go into medicine. Doc’s a natural born gynecologist. That lady doctor who works with him is for prisspots, like Mary Beth. But for folks like me who would much rather have a man gynecologist, he is happy to oblige. Don’t be gettin no strange notions – Dr. D is professional.
Some thangs I learned about Dr. D: He grew up in New Jersey. They don’t drink sweet tea up yonder. Dr. D is divorced. He was once married to a lady who ran out on him. She wrote him a note sayin how she needed some adventure and left him her dog.
Doc thinks he’s helpin with supper by bringin over kitchen tools. So now I got me a new garlic press, meat thermometer, apple corer, egg timer and a julienne maker (whatever). Stuff like that. I always says thank you , but I don’t have the heart to tell him I won’t never use any of that junk. What I want to say to Dr. D is, Get your sweet buns down to the Sam’s Club, and pick me up a jumbo bag of instant mashed potatoes, a fifty-pack of frozen burgers, and a ten-pound bag of shredded cheddar. Now that would make sense.
Sometimes when we’re sittin around the table talkin, Eleanor sticks her skinny head in the door and looks. If Doc’s in the middle of sayin somethin, he shuts
“I may be allergic,” says Dr. Dorrie, “but I’ve definitely got a way with dogs. So it’s Floyd, huh? Come ‘ere Floyd,” he calls, patting his knee.
I give Floyd a look that says if you go to him I’ll tie bows in your hair.
Floyd ignores me and streaks out of the kitchen in a blur of blueness right onto Dr. Dorrie’s lap.
“Hey boy…wow, you’re fast. Almost as fast as my dog. Maybe faster.”
Dr. Dorrie scratches behind Floyd’s ears, and his eyes land on the rose tattoo.
“What? Is this dog a member of the Russian Mafia?”
Floyd whimpers and licks Dr. Dorrie’s hand and face and sits in his lap until Dr. Dorrie breaks out into a full blown sneezing attack and has to place him on the floor.
Around nine, we call it a night. Before Dr. Dorrie goes home, he bangs on the banister a little to see if it’s hollow and then pokes his head in the kitchen to say good-bye to Floyd, promising to bring him a doggie treat on his next visit.
Next visit? Why would he come back?
Tonight was a close call.
A strange night, too.
13
Doyle Stubb
Mavis
Manchild, he done gave up on me cuz I quit talkin to him. He’s got hisself a new love now. Eleanor done made the mistake of feelin sorry for him and bought him a iPad to get him real professional, so he could get a regular job. First he watched a whole bunch of porno on the iPad, then he hocked it at the pawn shop. It sure did make him feel loved to get a present.
I’m fixin the food for the Share time when I hear Dr. Dorrie talkin out in the Great Room. “Hey there, Yankee!” I yell out the kitchen door. “Come on in and make yourself at home.”
I told Dr. D he can call me Trailer Trash, since I like to call him Yankee. But he gets this real bothered look on his face and won’t do it. Last time he said, “Mavis, I could never call you that. Trash should never be applied to anyone .” (He takes it real serious.) “If I had to call you Trailer anything it’d be Trailer Treasure .”
That’s real sweet and all, but he’s got to learn to take a joke. Loosen up, baby. And if you’re gonna give me a nickname with Trailer in it, I’m very partial to Twilight Trailer cuz I did read them Vampire books. And they was gooood.
Dr. D swings open the kitchen door. He’s been comin to the Share Group for a few weeks now and taken to comin early to help me fix supper and set up the furniture. He’s got on a t-shirt and jeans. He likes to pull up a chair at the kitchen table and talk while I’m cookin. He’s told me a little about hisself.
First off, Dr. D was going to be an architect. He went to some fancy design college in Chicago. But when his mama, who he was devoted to, got real sick and died of some kind of lady cancer, he decided to go into medicine. Doc’s a natural born gynecologist. That lady doctor who works with him is for prisspots, like Mary Beth. But for folks like me who would much rather have a man gynecologist, he is happy to oblige. Don’t be gettin no strange notions – Dr. D is professional.
Some thangs I learned about Dr. D: He grew up in New Jersey. They don’t drink sweet tea up yonder. Dr. D is divorced. He was once married to a lady who ran out on him. She wrote him a note sayin how she needed some adventure and left him her dog.
Doc thinks he’s helpin with supper by bringin over kitchen tools. So now I got me a new garlic press, meat thermometer, apple corer, egg timer and a julienne maker (whatever). Stuff like that. I always says thank you , but I don’t have the heart to tell him I won’t never use any of that junk. What I want to say to Dr. D is, Get your sweet buns down to the Sam’s Club, and pick me up a jumbo bag of instant mashed potatoes, a fifty-pack of frozen burgers, and a ten-pound bag of shredded cheddar. Now that would make sense.
Sometimes when we’re sittin around the table talkin, Eleanor sticks her skinny head in the door and looks. If Doc’s in the middle of sayin somethin, he shuts
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