Prompt Perspectives

More Lassies

(Prompt: Go to a public place and watch people. Use their appearance, their habits, and their communication styles to inspire your novel's characters.)

"More Lassies? Where... ?" and Jock spilled some of his Scotch (just a dram, you understand) as he twisted his whole body one way and then the other to be the first to sight the bevy of beauties he instantly imagined.

"Naar... yer not lissenin' right, me auld laddie," and Brodie shook his head in disgust, and he sighed loudly. Trust Jock... never backward about coming forward. Impatiently he continued, "Now wheesht! I said molasses, you deaf auld fool!"

"Ahh... Moor Lasses. They'll be the bonnie braw ones from the Highlands, then?"

"OCH! WILL ye LISTEN! I said ... MO-lasses." and though Brodie pressed his lips together tightly, still another exasperated sigh slipped between them.

"Huh? Bearded ladies? With 'mo-staches'? It's no true!" Now Jock spilled his drink in earnest as his eyes widened and his shaggy eyebrows jumped even higher than the involuntary jerk of his arm.

Brodie ran his hand through his hair, and scratched his head in aggravation. "I SAID MOLASSES, you eejit! NOTHIN' to do with wee lassies. Molasses comes from sugar cane and mebbe yer know it better as treacle? You know, like your Mam's treacle pudding she used to make you from when yer were just a bairn. The self same one yer wifie makes on Sundays to tempt yer owt of yer hangover.. NOO do yer ken?"

Understanding suddenly shone out of Jock's somewhat bleary eyes. "Molasses! Yer big jessie, why didn't you say so in the first place? Gettin' me all chuffed about some new dolly-birds that wasn't." Now it was his turn to tighten his mouth - in exasperation that his dreams were dashed before they'd even gotten going."What a palaver about nowt!"

Poor old Brodie. It was an uphill battle to make Jock understand he wanted to share an interesting bit of medical history he'd learned that day, reading another of his old Granny's diaries.

"Yer Granny had a dairy? I dinna know that!" Jock was obviously struggling to imagine that dainty little old lady up to her ankles in 'shite', perched on a stool, hand-milking a cow. "Think I'd betta have anither bevvie. 'S-s-s all too hard!"

"Ah, pure dead brilliant, Jock! Dinnae yer know a DIARY is summat yer write in?" And Brodie shook his head sadly as he took a large gulp of his whisky. "Sure and yer'd drive a mon to drink..." and under his breath he muttered, "as though he'd need any help!"

And before Jock could interrupt again, Brodie told him about the wonderful properties of molasses - one tablespoon every day, Granny had written. She'd been told about it by her old Mam, who'd learned about it from her Gran, and she decided to try it out after she'd fallen and broken her hip, and the doctors told her she'd never walk again.

"Eighty four, she wuz, me auld laddie, and "On your boike!" she said, and 'Rubbish, you watch me the morn' and started taking the molasses."

"And?" Jock was swaying on his bar stool something fearful but at least he was finally giving his full attention to Brodie.

"AND... she walked with a walking frame, AND then she threw that away and only used a stick. And the doctors said she was a walking miracle. AND THEN... she threw away the walking stick and soon walked without even a limp. Now whaddyer think of that?"

Jock smacked his hand against his forehead, hunched his shoulders, and spread his hands out wide as he said, "Aarrgh now. Isn't that wot oi've bin sayin' all along?

THE MORE LASSIES YER HAVE IN YER LIFE, THE BETTER YER BE."

Author's Note:  Humble apologies to any wee Scottie hearts that are troubled by my attempts at a Scottish accent (and if you think the written word is bad, you should check out the spoken variety! Och mon!)