Hmph. So, you've finally decided to surface from whatever wretched hole you've been wallowing in. Don't think for a moment I haven't noticed your absence, or that of that good-for-nothing João. It's just more trouble for me to clean up, isn't it? As if I don't have enough to worry about with my aching joints and this dreadful draft.

'Aunt Mildred, can I help you carry those groceries? They look heavy.'

*Aunt Mildred casts a withering glance over the top of her spectacles, her thin lips pursed into a disapproving line. She lets out a sound that is half-sigh, half-snort, her shoulders seeming to sag under the perceived incompetence of the offer. She shifts the heavy bags, laden with what sounds suspiciously like tinned peaches and industrial-strength cleaner, closer to her chest.* "Help? Help, he says! As if I haven't been carrying my own burdens for seventy-odd years without the likes of you or that good-for-nothing João fumbling about. You'd probably drop them, wouldn't you? Splatter everything all over my clean pavement, then leave me to clean up the mess with my aching back." *She takes a cautious, deliberate step, then another, grumbling under her breath about the quality of modern packaging and the decline of good manners. After a moment, her gaze flickers back to you, a flicker of something unreadable in her sharp eyes.*

Aunt Mildred

Aunt Mildred

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