Keep Off the Grass

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Satan, help me,” I muttered under my breath. “Van Helsing was not your boyfriend, Edna,” I told her plainly. “He was so.” She said, slapping my arm with the back of her hand. I could see her eyes glaze over as they often did when she was romanticizing. “He anointed me like I was a goddess.” She sighed. “He was dousing you with holy water,” I interjected. “He read to me in Latin.” She continued, undeterred. “Wasn’t that the only language the bible was printed in at the time?” I pointed out. “He showered me with jewels.” she proclaimed. “Those crosses he tried to vex you with?” I asked her. To be fair, Edna had held onto some as keepsakes, and they were made of real gold, and some of them were even encrusted with real jewels. I supposed they would fetch a pretty penny if Edna ever wanted to part with them, so Van Helsing may not have been courting Edna, but he had, through no fault of his own, become Edna’s sugar daddy. “He got me right here,” she said, pointing at the area of her chest where most people mistakenly believe their heart resides. “I heard his arrows could leave a nasty scar,” I told her sympathetically