When I was a little kid, my dad went sailing on weekends and out for the evening sometimes without my mom or my brother and I. He'd leave us at home with Mom. I was still little, and hadn't started that phase where I didn't like my mom yet. As soon as Dad was out of the house, my mom would cackle and cackle and cackle. She'd turn on the oven to cook dinner, and tell us if we weren't good, she'd put us in the oven. My mom was the witch from Hansel and Gretel. Of course, my brother and I lived in the house with her, and our house was made of brick. What did that matter in the long run? My mom was threatening to put us in the oven. And she looked serious. She didn't look mean, though. And she didn't have a wart, or a hat, or green skin, even. Though one of her teeth was kind of green. Mom said it was from a filling and that's why I should brush my teeth every day. I wasn't sure if I should believe her. Well, maybe she was right about brushing my teeth.
Mom would chase us around the house, cackling and reaching out to drag her fingers along our sides. It tickled. Eventually, my brother and I would collapse, breathless from exertion and laughter.
Once, I told Dad what Mom did when he left us alone with her. Mom just smiled and batted her eyelashes at Dad. I don't think he believed me.
Sometimes I wondered if my mother really was serious. But then, she got this look in her eyes when she cackled that explained that my mom really was the person in those pictures in the belly dancing outfits and the jazz dance class outfits with her face painted with butterflies. Though I bet the witch in the fairytale was once a nice young lady who took ceramics and made flowerpots painted with bunnies, too.