Stan for a movie

She woke from her nap, stretching her arms, pressing her chin down to her shirt. Mouthing a clown frown.

Yawn.

She relaxed into that second stage of wakefulness she has: elbows and knees out, up, in close, far flung. Her eyes opened to the near distance and her right hand twirled a lock of her long curly dark hair, patterned on the pillow.

The back of her fingers resting now over her parted lips. She quietly announced: "If I were stayin', I'd be so mad. Oh just furious!"

I was confused. "What do you mean? You're--- not staying?"

"Huh?" Her body came back into shape and she got up on her elbows, laughing suddenly.

"I said, if I were Stan. Stan, upstairs! What the Tramp Steamer did to him!"

"Oh! "

Then she laughed and we both of us bust into a fit of laughing and she said "Stop making fun of me!" and I insisted I wasn't. Anyway, she did laugh first.

"I'm tarred!" she declared, and flopped back down and turned on her side away from me. Tired, which is when the good State of Mississipi comes out, I suppose. Or is that accent from Memphis?

"Geez. Going into Stan's room and unplugging his air freshener??! I mean "?" You know?"