I Love My Schmoopy Woopy
Lorraine Addams was an elderly woman who lived alone, surrounded by memories. Her husband, Abe Addams (not the football player), passed four long months ago, and she felt every aching second. Lorraine had three things keeping her going. The first was her precious son, Alex. The second was her soap operas or as she liked to say her “flat screen friends.” The third and quite possibly most important thing of all was her “Schmoopy Woopy.” Her “Schmoopy Woopy” was her old gray fat Persian cat. She loved that cat like little boys love piss.
Lorraine was a creature of habit; keeping her routine was crucial to her sanity and bearing the unbearable. The first thing she did every morning, after putting on her glasses and putting in her teeth was to head downstairs to the kitchen. She would go into the fridge, grab a carton of whole milk, and pour out a saucer. Once she placed the saucer of milk on the floor, she would clear her throat and sing her “Schmoopy Woopy Song.”
Ohhhh my Schmoopy Woopy
I love you soooo much
Like a brush
My Schmoooopy Wooooopy
There were twelve additional stanzas that no one has time to type out or read. As I said, she loved that old gray fat Persian cat. She loved it like the way girls secretly love discussing their poop.
One day her son Alex called her to say he was going to come by and help tidy up the place. “What a good son,” she thought. “I love him so.” She went to the kitchen to tell her, “Schmoopy Woopy,” the good news.
“Hey there, Mr. Schmoopy Woopy! Guess who’s coming over to help us?” She waited a beat to allow her cat to answer.
“I know I know,” she said in a high pitch voice. “I know you know it’s your brother Alex. What a good brother he is, right? We love him so.”
Lorraine began to sing “The Happy Song” to her old fat gray Persian cat.
Ohhhh my Schmoopy Woopy
It’s a great day
The sun is shining
Hip hip hooray
There were eight additional stanzas that no one has time to type out or read. What you do have time to hear about is the dance that accompanied said song. Anytime she sang “The Happy Song,” she had to do a rhythmic dance she had learned while vacationing in Guam. Lorraine sang and danced with Schmoopy Woopy in her kitchen, temporarily forgetting all about her troubles.
The song ended with her singing,
Alex and “Schmoopy Woopy” together again
She punctuated her WOO with one more quick thrust of her pelvis, forgetting the fact that she was closer to ninety than she was nineteen. The motion of her ocean knocked her off balance, and she fell on her hip, shattering like a Legos building. The pain was both instantaneous and cruel, and Lorraine cried out for help.
“OHHHH OHHHHH MY HIP! MY HIP! SCHMOOPY WOOPY GET HELP! GO GET HELP FOR YOUR MOTHER! OHHHH SCHMOOPY WOOPY GET YOUR BROTHER ALEX!”
Meanwhile, Alex stopped at a Starbucks for a chai latte, which is what he always did before visiting his mother. He used to offer to buy one for his mom, but she hated the stuff. In her mind, it in no way shape or form compared to Sanka. Everything was on schedule until he stepped forward and realized Mel wasn’t there to take his order. Some guy named Bart stood in her place, except Bart spelled his name with an @ sign, so it looked like this:
B@rt also had a tough time with making the chai latte, putting Alex twenty-five crucial minutes behind schedule. When he finally arrived and opened the door, he called out for his Ma.
“MAAA? MAAAA! You home? MAAA? MAAAAAAA?! MAAAAA, where are you?” Lorraine had passed out from the pain, and her son’s voice brought her back.
“Here! I’m here! I’m in the kitchen, Alex! Ohh, “Schmoopy Woopy,” you did it!” Alex came running in and saw his poor Ma on the floor. He dropped to his knees and cried,
“MA! MAA! What happened? Are you okay? MAA!” Lorraine reached out and touched the side of her son’s face.
“Yes, thank you. Thank you for coming. And thank God for “Schmoopy Woopy.” Alex looked around and then looked back at his Ma.
“Ma, what are you talking about? Who is “Schmoopy Woopy”?” He was suddenly concerned. Had she also hit her head? Was their brain damage? Lorraine looked up at her son with a grimace mixed with annoyance.
“Now, Alex, is that any way to talk about your brother?” Alex could feel the perspiration forming in his armpits and the base of his spine.
“Ma! What the hell are you talking about? I don’t have a brother.” Lorraine managed to eke out a smile. She understood the confusion now.
“I know, dear. I know. I meant my cat, “Schmoopy Woopy.” Despite the pain, she let out a laugh. “Ohh, for a second there, you probably thought I was nuts.” Alex stared at his poor mother, and he had to fight back a tear. Something was definitely wrong.
“But, Ma! You don’t have a cat!” The pain, the doubt, it was suddenly all too much for Lorraine, and she lashed out.
“Don’t you say that, Alexander! Don’t you dare say that! He’s right there!” Alex turned around, almost in fright.
“Where?” Lorraine was now crying and extended her right hand.
“Over there! On the counter!” Alex looked at the spot on the counter she was pointing.
“I still don’t see him!” His Ma felt flush. It was suddenly hot in the kitchen. Her mouth was dry, and she croaked out,
“He’s right there, my old gray fat Persian cat.”
“Ma! That’s the toaster.”