Mrs Goody Two Shoes XXVII

Mid-life masti

While the fat woman went off to Goa, hips swaying, I was left stranded with her 'baby'

Mrs Mehrotra was all packed. Two suitcases and a very 80s, cherry red vanity case (with her lipstick and nail paint to match it) stood in the lobby as her driver got the Accent out of the garage. The clacking heels and the sudden gush of perfume smell announced that her ladyship had finally come down from her flat after a two-hour make-up session in front of her dressing table. She was off to Goa with her kitty party club, those 'ooooh' and 'aaaaaah' ladies.
Two suitcases for a four-day trip, I rolled my eyes while talking to myself in my mind. The vanity case was right out of a cheesy movie with a cheesier airhostess as the heroine. "Oh darling, sho shweet of you to see me off," Mrs Mehrotra trilled. I quickly snapped out of my musings, looked up and displayed my teeth in a frozen grin, that is until I realised she was addressing Queeny. Did I not introduce you to Queeny? The Mehrotra woman will chop me to pieces and feed my bones to that bitch (every kind of pun intended) if she knew I forgot about her.
Queeny: the most ill-mannered, ill-tempered, spoilt, high-handed female dog ever. Queeny: the dog who pisses everywhere except her mistress' home. Queeny: the cunning shrew, who would steal from you and act all innocent in front of Mehrotra. Queeny: the one I, her temporary guardian, was holding on a leash right then while the 65-year-old went off to chill out on the sunny beaches.
The week before she had called me to see her shopping. I had thought, poor widow (Mr Mehrotra had passed away ten years back), she needs someone to share her little joys. I had expected saris and salwar-kameez sets, demure even if not classy (class was beyond Mrs Mehrotra.) But I gulped when I saw what I saw. Skinfit slacks in shiny colours, tube tops, flowery bikinis. The picture of her flabby tummy and not-so-appealing buttocks in the bikinis flashed through my mind. I tried to shoo the image away.
"Look at you, all skin and bones. Men will drool and fall when they see all this mutton (ahem, she meant her physical self) in these clothes. Just let me hit the beach baby!" She sounded so excited that I nodded along, praising each of the XXL items, bored to death by the end of it, but smiling in encouragement still.
As I slowly edged away, having spent nearly three hours with her, she said she had just one "tinsie-winsie" favour to ask from me. "Look after my Queeny while I am away. She is such a good little girl. SHe will miss her mommy..." I suddenly realised what she was actually asking of me. "What?" I stood there helplessly. "Come on, you can't do this much for your Mehrotra auntie? Anyway Queeny is a jewel." Jewel she is indeed, I thought, as I caught the evil glint in her yes. Was she smiling at my predicament? Was I hallucinating? I was petrified of that dog and I whimpered a "yes auntie, of course auntie", almost as if Queeny was holding me at gun point. For the terror of a time I had with her, you have to come back to this column next week.