Cherub on the Left: “What the hell is she doing?”
Cherub on the Right: “By the looks of it, orgasming.”
Left: “From just a spritz? We should all be so lucky. I wonder what’s in the bottle?”
Right: “Whatever it is, I’m sure it doesn’t smell like her husband. She never looks like that when he’s around.”
Left: “He’s such a beastly little man, bellowing and throwing things and using us to light his cigars. I always have ash in my sash.”
Right: “I don’t know why she doesn’t just leave him.”
Left: “She’s staying for the cash flow, of course. She didn’t have a carved vanity table with that other husband of hers, the one that accidentally got run over by his own plow mule. Once you get off the farm, you don’t wanna go back.”
Right: “This house is just full of misery and deceit and bad wallpaper.”
Left: “You got that right. I don’t know how much more I can take. What do you say we wait for Orgasma over there to finish up and totter off to her princess bed. Then we can grab that bottle of gin off the vanity and make a break for Atlantic City. I gotta guy who can hook us up.”
Right: “Although that sounds poorly-planned and we’ll probably end up in a ditch somewhere, it could be fun. And I’ve always wanted to try that saltwater taffy the butler keeps babbling about. But there’s just one problem.”
Left: “What? You chicken?”
Right: “No. We can’t actually move, Einstein. We’re made out of gold.”
Left: “Oh, right. There’s that. Well, I hope Orgasma has some new movies in her Netflix queue tonight. I don’t think I can take any more Charlie Chaplin.”
Right: “What do you have against Chaplin?”
Left: “He annoys the hell out of me. Why does he have to stretch out every scene until I want to scream? Just eat the damn shoe, Chuck. Eat it.”
Orgasma suddenly sighed contentedly, and then she plunked her spritzer on the vanity, satiated. She turned to study her reflection in the mirror for a bit, as most people who have finally managed to marry well often do, smiling at her fortune and her still-fetching dewiness. Things really did work out well in the end, as long as one had patience and scanned the obituaries for recently-widowed millionaires and knew how to spook a plow mule at just the right time. Then she stood up, grabbed both the startled cherubs, threw them into the trashcan, and tottered off to her princess bed.
Originally posted in “Crusty Pie” on 07/16/15 and “Bonnywood Manor” on 10/29/15. Some changes made, including a new ending. Moral of the story: Never underestimate the ambitions of someone who has lived on a farm.
Categories: Past Imperfect
Bonnywood Manor 
I feel an affinity with Right Cherub. I too am often tempted by poorly-planned escapades that will invariably end up in a ditch.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Perhaps the next time you totter into a ditch, we’ll finally get to meet, as I always seem to be in one as well…
LikeLike
That would be marvellous! I can’t think of anyone I would rather meet in a ditch 😊
LikeLiked by 1 person
I don’t think she looked in that mirror, because not only is the place full of misery and deceit and bad wallpaper but the mirrors are covered up with … something. Maybe it’s not wallpaper at all. Maybe it’s toilet paper. Yup. That’s it. A suitable metaphor for her black soulessness: no mirror, no reflection, just toilet paper.
😉
LikeLiked by 2 people
Or perhaps Orgasma is a vampire and can’t see her reflection? She already has the right sort of name for it, so it would make perfect sense. Then again, if she does walk the night, why would she toss aside the cherbubs rather than have a nice midnight snack? There are indeed mysterious forces at work here…
LikeLiked by 1 person
I coNFC’s I had difficulty to pass the initial prospect of a orgasm in a bottle🤩
LikeLiked by 2 people
I already have my research team checking into the possibility…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Of course you do😉😎🤩
LikeLiked by 1 person
I don’t think it’s the spritzer making her bubble over, I think it’s those satin jimmy bottoms stroking her la-la just so ….. see how the corsage is all akimbo – this has happened more than once today, you mark my words it has 😉
LikeLiked by 2 people
This is perhaps not the place to mention it, but since you’ve already opened Pandora, I once had a certain ribbed bedspread that proved to have multiple purposes…
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’d have paid good money for that bedspread!!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
OK, I spent summers on the farm. Does that make me partially ambitious? And sorry, those cherubs are a bit tacky, and after all they’d witnessed at that table, it’s understandable why they had to be trashed. The wallpaper is grim enough to be toilet paper as Lynette suggests. And what’s in the jar by cherub, stage right? Maybe one shouldn’t ask.
LikeLiked by 1 person
While spending summers on a farm may give one a taste of the ambition brew, it’s not quite the same as being farm-bound during harsh and boring winters. THAT’s when the home-study course bears maximum fruit…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yep, get rid of the cherubs.
LikeLiked by 1 person
But what if the little cherubs eventually haunt you in the afterlife? Granted, you didn’t do the actual ridding, but you certainly didn’t try to stop it. I would caution against blithely entering darkened rooms for the next few days…
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’ll consider myself warned.
LikeLiked by 1 person
‘Just eat the damn shoe, Chuck. Eat it.’!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Bingo. My fave line…
LikeLike
No cherub is safe after a few spritzs.
LikeLike
Something my Aunt Monica used to always say…
LikeLike
Cherubs get hooked up?
LikeLiked by 1 person
If they have enough money, yes…
LikeLike
I confess I’ve never seen a Charlie Chaplin flick, only a few clips. Even so, I’ve a feeling Buster Keaton is more to my taste.
You’ve uncovered the reason for my lack of ambition: Although I was born on a farm, my family moved to the city when I was a year old. Meaning I only have one year of ambition, then I’m done. I’m still waiting for it to happen.
LikeLiked by 2 people
I’m in the same boat as mrlover, in that I only spent summers on my granny’s farm. So I can recognize ambition when I see it, but I’m not skilled in the proper wrangling of such…
LikeLiked by 1 person
This was definitely a funny one.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLike
I’ve grown to like Orgasma. She has pretty shoes. And since killing cherubs is a felony is 18 states, I hope to God she lives in godless California.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Orgasma no longer has to worry about the legal results of her actions. Trump has issued an executive order which now blames the cherubs rather than the killer…
LikeLike
That Trump! What a scamp!
LikeLiked by 1 person
LOL
LikeLiked by 2 people
Well, the usual farm smells don’t make anyone feel orgasmic. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
But all that mooing can trigger certain memories…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes! Yes it can. Lol.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Hehe! Cherubs have seen it all and more! 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
The stories they could tell…
LikeLiked by 1 person