Past Imperfect

Past Imperfect – #519

Meanwhile, in one of those conservative states where people voted for Trump because they apparently relish alternative facts over progress, another wedding night ensues…

Deanna, left: “Darling, I couldn’t help but notice that your father is in the room as we are about to make whoopee.”

Robert, middle: “Darling-Ette, I couldn’t help but notice that you are speaking when you haven’t been given permission to do so.”

Charles, right: “Good verbal volley, son. Extra points for the dominant finger on her lips.”

Deanna: “Permission? We’re married now. We’re equals.”

[Cue canned laughter from the Republicans in the audience that doesn’t really exist.]

Robert: “I’m glad you brought up the marriage angle. Because we have a contract now. And every decent judge in America knows that the male signee on a contract is automatically the winner. Everything else is unimportant.”

Charles: “Oh, I like that one. I might have to use that the next time the ole ball and chain wants to know where I’ve been all night.”

Deanna: “Oh, there are a few things that are still important. Like the fact that said contract can be nullified by either party within three business days. Even in this conservative state where they still don’t understand why Columbus didn’t fall off the edge of the flat Earth.”

Robert: “You wouldn’t dare. I have a penis and I cannot be denied.”

Charles: “More bonus points! Especially since I wasn’t really sure you had a penis until now. There was a dark time in our family when you joined the high school glee club.”

Deanna: “Oh, you can be denied, alright. I’ve already spoken with my lawyer and he assures me that this whole arrangement can quickly be null and void, especially if there is no consummation.”

Robert: “Consummation? Is that the thing where the Catholics eat biscuits?”

Charles: “Son, now I’m questioning the penis thing again.”

Deanna: “No, Robert, you twit. It’s the thing where we don’t have sex tonight, or ever. Now get your ignorant fingers off of me so I can go post a status update on social media, one that will not look good in the society papers.”

Robert: “You can’t do that. Women don’t have the right to vote!”

Charles: “Really, Bobby? Four years of expensive bible college and this is what you give me? Women have been able to vote for years. Of course, a lot of women apparently still don’t understand that they can do so, which is how our party keeps winning elections, but it seems your uppity wife has read a book or two. I might actually have to respect her, even though that’s not in our party platform.”

Deanna: “Of course I’ve read a book. While you two were off scratching your head over some decrepit stone tablets, I actually went to a real college.” She hops nimbly off Bobby’s Questionable Box. “I thought we could build a life together, Robert. It’s obvious to me now that ‘we’ was never part of your plan. I’ll see you in court!” She then turns and runs offstage, where she happens to slam into an Italian prince who was touring the movie set. They eventually get married (once the annulment comes through) and manage to live a completely contented life on Lake Como, where they raise five well-adjusted children who eventually make thoughtful voting decisions in elections instead of waiting for Fox News to tell them what to do.

Robert: “I’m at a loss as to what just happened here.”

Charles: “I would imagine that’s how Donald Trump feels when he posts yet another inane missive on Twitter and most of the world calls him out on his idiocy.”

Robert: “You sound like a Democrat.”

Charles: “No, I sound like one of the few Republicans who has the balls to admit that we should have stopped this mess when we had the chance.”


Originally published in “Crusty Pie” on 05/03/17. Minor changes made, but that doesn’t soften the hard fact that we have a president elected by people who don’t understand precedent. Those who forget history…

Current NaNoWriMo count, for those interested: 44,881. I can smell the finish line. Of course, that might just be the leftover deviled eggs from Thanksgiving…


23 replies »

  1. Nothing worse than a questionable box, in my view. Unless, of course, it’s a debatable la-la.
    A pretty girl of my acquaintance referred to hers as “my noo-noo” the other day. Have you ever heard that one? No me neither. Naturally, I made my excuses and left.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Oh, come on. Surely the “noo-noo” wasn’t a “no-no” for you. I’ve done my research into the Whelkian way of things, and most scholars on the matter agree that such a slight linguistic speed-bump would not deter you. So there must have been something else going on. Perhaps Pretty Girl offended you in some way with her arrangement of scones during High Tea. That would make much more sense… 😉

      Liked by 2 people

  2. I must go find a hidden corner (I’d have said ‘nook-ee’ but that just sounds too suggestive, given the subject matter) and hide my head. I have to admit I’ve been (apparently) wandering around in your head again and loquaciously commented on parental witness to child who is fully grown and out of the nest’s sexual escapades during a Bumpkin tribute. Therefore I’m highly unsettled now and must go decide which direction to take from here… thanks for the fully stocked bar in your mind…that helped.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Oh and if hubby had ever tweaked my nose or put his finger in my face like that, it is just possible that I’d have bitten the appendage off, giving him time to reconsider what was one of his favorite escapades vis a vis the bedroom frolics. No man I know of wants his penis bitten… well there was that odd duck from Tacoma, but I digress.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ah, so you’re a biter. This is something we need to know, so we can fully flesh out (ahem) your true persona. And I strongly support you in your endeavors. Now, would you mind sharing the name of the duck from Tacoma? Just kidding. I’m not necessarily a fan of teeth in certain intimate moments… 😉


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