Free Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 02 - Christmas Bizarre by Lizz Lund Page B

shop, and shook his head. “You really have a problem, you know?”
    I nodded glumly.
    They dropped me off at home, where I found Vito in a content post-Swiffering mode, whistling happily with his dish towel over his shoulder. But so was Miriam – she was humming. The sudden image of their having a senior moment – that has nothing to do with senior moments as we know them – sprang to mind. I willed myself not to picture the particulars – especially under my own roof. I blinked a bit, and counted to ten, willing my blood pressure toward something normal. They were well past the age of grownups, yes? Well, at least they weren’t sharing a cigarette. Although I had serious reservations. So did the rest of my undigested lunch.
    “I just came back for my heels! Ain’t they beaut s?” Miriam held up a pair of 4-inch, lime green stilettos. Good Lord – Miriam had lime green knock-me-downs.
    “Gee.” It was all I could manage without losing my lunch all over my newly Swiffered floors.
    Vito held up a hand. “Miriam got here just after I finished.”
    “Oh.” I was glad to be spared the details.
    “Your floors are still wet. You might wanna hang out upstairs for a little bit, ‘til they dry.”
    “Sure! You don’t wanna go traipsing around now! You’ll get the floors all schmutzed!”
    Miriam had a point.
    “Actually, you might also wanna check your answering machine,” Vito blushed.
    “How come?”
    “I kinda overheard part of a message, while I was Swiffering.”
    “Was it James?”
    “Not so good. Basically, it sounds like your cable’s getting shut off.”
    Vito and Miriam made a hasty exit – shoes and all – while I shuffled upstairs, reluctant to listen to my first collection notice.
    I found Vinnie sprawled across my bed, yawning. Well, at least he had enough sense not to get his paws wet from Swiffer juice. I played the message, took down the contact information, and gently pounded my head against the desk. Vinnie patted me on the shoulder.
    “Thanks.”
    I called the number and after several hundred dial-up menus, I finally reached a person: Edna.
    “So, once I pay the remainder due, can I cancel the service for a while?”
    “You could, but it would only cost you more to get reconnected later. You’d have to pay a $200 installation fee.”
    “What would they install? I’ve got all the equipment. Don’t you guys just hit a button somewhere?”
    “Not exactly. All I know is that if you disconnect your service now, you’ll pay a whole new installation fee later.”
    “Crud.”
    “I’ll tell you what you can do, though. You can put your service on ‘vacation’ – that’s just $5 a month. People with vacation homes do that all the time.”
    “Let me get this straight: I’m collecting unemployment, and working enough part time jobs to qualify for a personality disorder, but I can’t get a break because of financial hardship?”
    “Nope.”
    “But someone who’s rich enough to have two homes can put their second home satellite receiver on vacation for five bucks a month?”
    “Oh, you don’t have to be rich. Anyone can do this.”
    “The benefits of this being?”
    “You don’t have to pay a new installation fee.”
    Edna had me there. I gave her my financial particulars to take care of the truant amount, and told her I’d get back to her about vacation status. As much as I hated the idea, it probably would be sensible to put the satellite on hold until I was employed full-time again.
    I stared at the pile of bills whimpering in the corner from neglect. I wondered which system of payment to try out this month: toss them on the floor, and the first five get paid? Pay just the little ones? Or pay the ones in the pink and blue envelopes screaming at me? Well, at least I had my stamps at the ready.
    Luckily, Vinnie volunteered to be this month’s financial advisor, so a few calculator clicks and tail thwackings later and I soon had all the past dues paid. Mostly, anyhow. The