(prompt: 'normal' 27/12/2019)

"It's hopeless Mama! I've tried, like you wanted me to, but I can't. It's simply impossible." And with a huge, heartfelt sigh, Rosemarie flopped heavily and most ungraciously on the chaise longue opposite Matilda's quite regal Ladies' lounge chair.

So unlike my child, she thought, and out loud said, "PARDON?!?" But even as her heart pounded almost painfully in the back of her throat, a glimmer of understanding of her darling daughter's words flashed through her head like a neon light springing into life. One word - or name to be precise, repeated like a death knell through her mind... Algernon. Algernon. Algernon!

One glance at the spread-eagled Rosemarie and the loose slump of her dainty shoulders was evidence aplenty of her degree of despair. Accustomed to watching her treasure's habitual fussiness about seating herself demurely with bountiful skirts prettily spread around to best possible effect, Matilda clearly saw how far beyond normal Rosemarie's feelings of agitation had spread.

Impulsively, Matilda leaned forward to enfold her child's soft and delicate hand in her own heavily bejewelled and carefully cultivated one, in a loving grasp designed to comfort and show her solidarity... not to mention her grief at having been the catalyst to this sorry turn of events. Unable to keep an apprehensive quiver from her voice, she tremulously asked, "It's Algernon, isn't it?" And though she knew the truth, as mothers tend to do, and it pained Matilda quite fearfully, she forced herself to continue her unpleasant duty, reluctantly asking, "You've seen him again? Despite your promise?"

Rosemarie's beautiful blue eyes brimmed, threatening to overflow at a moment's notice. To Matilda's horror the first tear did indeed trace a path down that porcelain-like cheek; a path that revealed the spread of pink fluster spreading beneath the charmingly and painstakingly applied powder, with it's tiniest hint of rouge high on those precious cheeks. Her hands gripped Matilda's in a return of fervour.

"Yes, I have, Mama. I HAVE seen Algernon and spent time with him— " With a delicate gesture, she interrupted herself and with her free hand demonstrated her wish for Matilda to simply listen, before hurrying on, "... but it's NOT what you think, Mama." Blinking the tears away and dabbing at the corners of her great eyes with one of her ever-present lacy and perfumed handkerchiefs, she continued, in a firmer voice.

"When I saw him again after our separation, I knew, Mama. I REALLY did. It had to end completely for me to see without my 'rose-tinted' glasses, as you always say. Those lingering, longing glances on the rare occasions we accidentally met were not enough. Not even his amorous, hot breath upon my hand as he kissed it in seemingly perfect gentlemanly greeting."

Matilda's aching heart near burst with pride as Rosemarie took her hand once again, adding, "You were right all along, Mama. And my friends, too. I just didn't know until it was apparently 'over'. Then, it seemed, everyone had a story - or personal experience - with that roguish reprobate and his 'conquests of the heart'."

And though Rosemarie frowned her disapproval, Matilda could see a regretful light flash briefly, deep in her darling's eyes as they slid to one side, thoughtfully.

And the credit for the pic goes to -

Image by <a>lillaby</a> from <a>Pixabay</a>

And ALLthe adaptations of pics into covers for this year's collection goes to me -

© 2019 Christine Larsen

Bye for this year.