Bunions the size of pickled eggs

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‘You’re going out like that?’

‘What’s a matter with me?’

‘Don’t you have a mirror?’

‘You cheeky little bugger! I got mirrors, I just don’t bother with ’em much.’

Edie looked at Great Aunt Flora’s make up, at the inkblot mascara and the foundation slathered over a generous helping of facial hair. ‘Yeah, well…’

‘Go on, then, Miss Fashionista Wilson. Tell me what I needs to change.’

‘Well, for a start. Footwear.’

‘What about it?’

‘Do you really think you should be going Christmas shopping in your slippers?’

‘Why? Is it snowing?’

‘No… But most people would wear boots or shoes…’

‘Yeah, well, most people ain’t got bunions the size of pickled eggs. Next.’

‘Your coat.’

‘Good coat, this.’

‘Fifty years ago.’

‘Oi! It’s real wool.’

‘It’s all matted, it smells like something died in the pocket and there’s a piece of chewing gum stuck on the hem.’

‘It’s timeless.’

‘It’s lost all its buttons.’

‘That’s what the dressing gown belt’s for- holds it together, see.’

Edie sighed. She’d known this was a bad idea. ‘Don’t you think you should at least wear something on your legs?’ She stared down at Flora’s shins. They resembled stockings stuffed with mincemeat and lengths of electric flex.

‘Oh, don’t you worry ’bout me, my love. I’m all hot bloodied, me. Don’t feel the cold. Anyway, you should talk, Miss Flash-her-knickers-to-world.’

‘I’m not flashing my knickers…’

‘I sees ‘em every time you bends over. Very pretty too. Nice bit of pink lace, that. Where’d you get’em?’

Edie tried not to imagine Flora in a pair of baby pink midi briefs- she failed miserably. ‘Anyway, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you…’

‘And your belly’s out.’

‘It’s not…’

‘I saw that piercing your mother didn’t want you to have. Looks a bit sore, if you asks me.’

‘Well, I didn’t ask you.’

‘Have some respect for your elders, madam. You lot. You thinks you invented underage drinking and flashing your nethers in public. Let me tell you, my Ma dipped my dummy in gin to get me off to sleep at night. And no one had looser morals  than mine when I was your age…’

‘Whoa! Stop right there.’ She had to get the conversation back on track. ‘Okay. Wear whatever you want. There’s something else, though.’ She tried to avoid the dozen watery eyes that gazed up at her. ‘You can’t take them.’

‘What? But they won’t be no trouble.’

‘It’s Christmas. The shops are busy.’

‘They’re ever such good boys out and about. And Bluey only ever attacks the postie, no one else. Course, if we meet a postie out shopping we might have some trouble…’

John Lewis, Marks and Spencer, Debenhams… Aunty, none of them will let you take dogs in with you.’

‘What if I says they’re my guide dogs…’

‘The RNIB don’t train miniature poodles as seeing eye dogs. And they wouldn’t send you out with six at a time.’

Flora threw her hands in the air, jerking half a dozen surprised yelps from the dogs. ‘Right, that’s it. I ain’t going.’

Edie sighed. ‘Well, if you’re sure…’ Relief flooded over her. She tried not to smile. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’

‘I can’t be bothered with dressing up just to buy some pressies.’

‘No, well…’

‘You can show me how to do that interweb shopping thingy instead.’

‘Oh, Lord.’


This is for Day Seven of Writing 101. We had to compare and contrast two different things using dialogue.

I cheated a bit, as these are two characters from the YA novel I’m currently writing, so I already had the voices clear in my head. This is a scene that doesn’t appear in the book, but could happen before Edie and Flora venture out to investigate a woman’s disappearance and discover a lost soul and make a dark and powerful enemy…

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12 thoughts on “Bunions the size of pickled eggs

    1. Thank you so much- other people who’ve read the novel love her too. She’s a joy to write. I just wish there was a OA/EA category (Older Adult/ Elderly Adult?) and I could write a fantasy adventure novel just for her!

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    1. Thank you. Yeah, it’s crossed my mind. She’s an integral part of a YA book I’ve written- intended to be part of a series. I’d like to tell her backstory, how the young girl becomes a VERY old woman. She’s great fun to write. Problem is, I’ve been writing her so long, part of me thinks she actually exists… 🙂

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