Auntee Arlene

The doorbell rang, then rapid knocking, then the doorbell again. Five times. I knew she was coming, but this early? I opened the door.

“Helloooo Holly!”

Auntee Arlene smothered me in a hug with all her three-hundred fifty pounds. Very strong floral perfume mixed with oniony sweat filled my nose. Her short curly hair, wet with summer-time sweat, slopped against my cheek. I managed to wiggle free from this onslaught of an embrace.

“I brought you those cookies you like! How are you!? How long has it been since I have visited!? It is so hot out there, don't you think!? Why so thin!? Don’t you eat out here in The Big Apple!? Or all you eat is apples!?”

Everything was so loud coming out of her mouth. The words were being thrown at me too quickly for me to catch and reply.

Auntee Arlene grabbed the skin of my upper arm in a painful pinch then hurried into the kitchen to unpack her bag of food. She was talking loudly the whole time and waving her bag-laden arms around in a frenzy, her bright floral muumuu swishing everywhere.

My favorite succulent that was perched on top of my hall table toppled over as she passed. How did my inspirational-quote-print, hanging on the wall, already get crooked? She must have swiped that too, unknowingly. Not her fault, as she would say later, that my apartment was far too small. It never ever occurred to my dear Auntee that she was far too big.

With a sigh, I walked slowly toward the kitchen.