BillieTgal1965
Virgin
- Joined
- Mar 25, 2016
- Posts
- 8
Just off the street you see a carved sign that reads “Mrs. Babbage, Boarding House. Rooms to let” in large letters you think of as old sign type. Just under it in smaller, neater carving “Rooms by the day or week, see within.” You mount the three stairs to the wooden porch open the door. A warm clean smell of furniture polish and old wood welcomes you. The foyer is appointed in deep blues and greens with old, comfortable looking chairs and couches placed at various windows. Finally your eyes rest on an old desk and counter, only then do you see me standing behind it. An unremarkable grey haired woman in her fifties I do tend to be the last thing people see in this room. I have quite the knack for blending in. For me it’s a matter of safety acquired by growing up in not so genteel times. Times when people were less cosmopolitan, more provincial, when standing out could get one beaten or even killed.
“Hello, Dear, welcome to my boarding house, I am Regina Babbage, but most here just call me Aunt Reg. We have plenty of rooms”…
“Hello, Dear, welcome to my boarding house, I am Regina Babbage, but most here just call me Aunt Reg. We have plenty of rooms”…