Brew'n

BREW'N

She sauntered across the studio yard with Mabelline eyes, designer nails and a fur that clearly wasn’t faux.  The twins trailed behind, pushing, yelling, snooping and full of vinegar.  She heard I was spending the afternoon painting and asked if I’d watch the kids while she had lunch with the girls.  Well, she didn’t exactly ask, just shook her head and walked away.  In a flash, my serene studio garden transformed into a Brew’n Brothers Vaudeville act featuring high flying deck furniture, wrestle-mania slap downs and hot tub trampoline.  The show only stopped when a tapping finger on paw-smudged window sent their little furry butts screeching after mom.  They disappeared in an instant, but I caught this one peering back around a birch tree wondering whether they could come back next week.  I smiled and said, ‘Tell mom any time.’   

V