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"I won't!" Pricilla Watson mumbled with furious indignation. Her slipper-clad feet sent up wispy, white plumes of smoke in her wake as she paced. What, in the name of all eternity, could He be thinking?
She wouldn't do it, not if they tarred and feathered her!
Or even if they slapped her buck-naked, cellulite-riddled backside onto one of those bloody silver and gold carriages, and screamed through the pathways of the Heavens with her tied behind it!!
Oh, Hell's bells, she thought sulkily. Cellulite was no longer a part of her world, and even that welcome reality didn't bring the usual rush of relief. She really was in trouble now. She studied her perfectly polished nails, and gnawed on her bottom lip. Think, Pricilla...
What else did she have to do to prove her worthiness?
Hadn't she saved poor, snot-nosed, smart-mouthed Tyrell Washington from certain death as he wandered aimlessly, lost in the mountains of Colorado? If there had ever been a kid who needed a good dose of soap in his mouth, he took first prize! Who took their kid off to some big, scary mountain and dubbed it a field trip, anyway? Pricilla shuddered with distaste as she remembered the dark, musty hell that mission had been! However, the call of duty had commanded her presence, and she had gone, with little or no fight. Well ... with maybe a smidge of fight, but, she was proud to declare, no kicking and screaming. This time.
And wasn't it only little more than a month ago, when she had single-handedly rescued that pitiful mouse of a woman Clementine from marrying that big yawn, Walter? Yeesh, had he been boring. A little mascara, something other than a wardrobe faux pas worthy of thefashion police, and all is well in the world of Clementine. Just ask that Hunk-o-rama, Dean, whom Clementine had managed--with a little help from yours truly--to snare. Hotties like that didn't just stroll into your life when you had a face that could stop a clock; they needed 'encouragement,' or whatever they called it up here. More like a resounding slap in the head, but no feat was too large for this angel in the offing. Pretty little house, babies would soon be crawling all over the place, and they'd have the proverbial white picket fence. Everybody's happy now, right?
Good gravy, what was left? If she didn't move to the next level pronto, she would be left behind for yet another year. Hadn't parting the Red Sea already happened?
Pricilla sighed. She had been stuck at this forsaken halfway point for five long, torturous years and she wouldn't stay put for another minute! Pricilla stomped her foot in frustration.
"Would you quit the whining?" Verbena, her Mentor Angel, entered with all the grace of an elephant and plopped her abundant, holier-than-thou, divine butt on the nearest cloud.
Was nothing sacred here? Even Pricilla's thoughts weren't her own anymore, since Mentor Angels could read the minds of their protégés. Pretty darn convenient, if you asked Pricilla.
"I didn't ask you," Verbena said with a crooked smile.
Pricilla snorted and raised her eyebrows to the Heavens, as if to say, "Do ya see what I mean?"
"When do you suppose it might be a good time for you to get off that scrawny behind of yours and get to the business at hand? We don't have much time you know; make hay while the sun shines and all."
Pricilla smoothed long tapered fingers down her flowing, white gown and planned her attack. What she wouldn't give for a mini skirt and some heels. She drew the line at a halo and wings; it was soooo 'Touched by an Angel.' She blew a loud rush of air and considered her options. Should she be weepy? She pinched the bridge of her nose in thought. No ... hmmm. How about stoically suffering? Or maybe, a little of both?
She knelt before Verbena with wide, pleading eyes and gave her best 'helpless female' look, summoning every last feminine wile she possessed.
She began quite simply--she begged.
"Please, please Verbena, I can't. Not even if I get the chance to see her. How can that slimeball be my mission? How can He ask this of me? It's like asking me to give up lipstick, or worse, miss my root touch ups!" Pricilla cried.
"Why can't you assign this to that knucklehead in training, Melvin? Wouldn't the 'man,'" she snickered out loud at the use of that particular reference to him, "in this picture be better served by a male Angel anyway?
"You must be out of your ever-lovin' mind if you think I can pull this off! I despise the very air he breathes, and I won't be a party to this. I won't!" Pricilla flopped forward on Verbena's billowy lap with a dramatic thump, taking in big gulps of air, laying emphasis on her long suffering.
Ever the drama queen, Verbena mused. Pricilla was from Texas, born and raised, where everything is big, including mouths, breasts and apparently hair. Swirls of Pricilla's thick coffee-colored tresses spilled around Verbena's hands. She really was just pathetic!
With a sigh Verbena gently stroked the pretty head of her most needy Angel. Pricilla was, if nothing else, the actress of the millennium. Verbena knew this for a fact; she had been stationed at this halfway point for what felt like at least that long. Many an Angel (and actress in fact), had been successfully tutored by Verbena and moved on to the next level with a hell of a lot fewer missions under their belts. Pricilla, on the other hand, had invented the phrase 'overstaying your welcome.' There was just no getting through to this beautiful, brainless piece of fluff! Her missions must be completed with selflessness, something Pricilla sorely lacked. If there was an end, she would find it to justify her means. The key to completing any successful mission was embarking on it, or at the very least finishing it with selflessness.
Pricilla's heart was capable of enormous love, most of which she showered upon hers truly. That was why Verbena supposed, He wouldn't give up, and that meant she couldn't either. Well He did after all, know best. So she sent Pricilla on mission after mission, each time crossing her fingers that it would be the last. Sometimes even Verbena laughed out loud at Pricilla's bumbling efforts. If only she would go with the flow and let herself complete one small mission without being selfish. It was essential that she complete the mission with nothing more than the intended subject's best interests at heart. Pricilla did it because she thought Upper-Level status meant hair dye and a wax. Oh, and cute guy angels.
Tough love was what they called it in the eighties, yes? A stiff dose of that was in order now.
Verbena lifted the beautiful Pricilla's head and cupped her face in her well-weathered hands; Pricilla's green, thickly-lashed eyes sought Verbena's inquiringly. She had even managed to squeeze out a single tear, the salty bubble trickling slowly down her creamy flushed cheek. Verbena chuckled, her lined face crinkled into a slow smile of appeasement.
"We do not always know why He asks what we may think is impossible. It is not ours to question.
Posted February 7, 2010
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Posted September 27, 2010
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