Novel & Cerita Marge Simpson

Margret ended the call before the minute mark. Margret was one of the few people that knew her past. She understood Valery more than Jennifer or anyone else. Since preschool, they have been best friends, soulmates, partners in crime, and forever sisters. She was the only one who could paint out Valery's characteristics and nature with her eyes closed. 'Marge', as Valery liked to call her, lived alone in a self-compound with her black Maltese, Mimi. When work stole her friend, Valery found her way to Marge's wanted list. Having Valery at home after months made her a little nuts.

Diana shook his head sadly: "I was so dumb that day that I didn't even recognize my Madam. In fact, no matter what, as long as you and your husband haven't divorced, you are the wife of the Smiths." Diana was the old housekeeper of the Smiths and used to help Mrs. Smith with errands. Because Mrs. Smith has always liked him, even Diana was great for her. She clenched the doorknob, lowered her eyes, and asked in a low voice, "Grandma, is she okay?" Diana shook his head: "It's still the same, there's no sign of waking up." Rachel West took a breath, only to feel bad. Grandma is such a good person, why did she become like this?

Marge was worried that her daughter's marriage prospects were delayed considerably. She was overjoyed when she heard from her husband that Ambrose had bought an apartment just above them. With Ambrose living so near, it was a golden opportunity! Marge thought that it was fate. Ambrose, a cripple, was a perfect match for her daughter with intellectual disability! Marge had been observing him secretly. She waited for Ambrose to move in so that she could approach him. However, she ran into Ambrose unexpectedly, who was accompanied by his fiancée!

It is nothing but a normal day at the pack after all. About an hour later, I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder and look behind me to find the gentle face of Marge looking at me with a soft smile. Marge is an old Omega lady in her sixties, whom I have known my whole life. Though her life, just as that of every other Omega, has been nothing but hard, she has the kindest heart I have ever seen on any person and the most gentle of smiles. “Jane dear, why don’t you help me take Alpha Xavier’s tray up to his room?” she implores, “I’ll take over these for you until you get back”, she adds, pointing towards the dishes.

Chapman, please forgive us for our rudeness. As Margie was about to finish speaking, she looked more and more sorrowful. It seemed that she truly missed Marilyn. But was that so? Marilyn looked at Margie's hypocritical face and sneered. She thought, "Margie is really talented at acting. It was a pity for her not to be an actress. In this world, only a mean person like Margie can exchange her adopted daughter for her own interests."

She completed the introduction in what seemed like a single breath before the grown-ups could even say their hellos. “Good grief, Margaret Elizabeth, mouth!” her mama, Mrs. Wade, had said with an exasperated breath, rolling her eyes heavenward and handing Lu a buttermilk pie. Mrs. Wade was known in town as the “Martha Stewart of the South” and trying to rein in the natural exuberance of her little daughter with the over the top personality was a constant struggle for her. Dani, however, was immediately caught in Maggie’s spell. “Dani,” she had responded quietly, the word pulled out of her by the sheer force of the big personality in front of her. Her aunt threw a surprised hand to her mouth,

“Right away.” Margie Hawk, owner of Margie’s Diner, wasn’t known for patient kindness, but she paid on time. That was all Marina could ask for. She scrubbed at the rim of a chipped coffee cup until the last ring of syrup vanished. Steam fogged her vision; her back protested every bend; hunger gnawed in her belly. But she kept moving.

It was quite easy to transform Jane Puckett, scholarship student and chronic coffee drinker, into Jailbird, the mysterious masked dancer in Fantasy Island. The hangover would have to wait. Bills didn't pay themselves.

I cleared my throat. “Marge, uh... I don’t suppose you have any...” I felt my cheeks redden. “I mean, do you have any, uh... period care? Pads or tampons?” Marge’s eyes flicked up from the papers, and she gave me a slow, knowing smile. She didn’t look embarrassed. Not even close. “Sweetheart, I hit menopause a long time ago,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “But I’m sure I’ve got something lying around here somewhere.”

The coffee had a dark film on the surface. It had been there for hours. I hadn't touched it. The door opened. "Good morning, Mrs. Parker." The maid's name was Margaret. She was American. Fifty-something years old. Gray hair pulled into a tight bun. Tired blue eyes, but attentive. She had worked for the Sterlings for over twenty years. She had seen it all. "Good morning, Margaret." My voice came out hoarse. Scratchy. "You didn't eat again." Margaret shook her head. It wasn't scolding. It was concern. You could see it in her eyes, in the way her eyebrows drew together. "You need to eat, Mrs. Parker. For the baby."