Past Imperfect

Past Imperfect – #565

Greta, the wife, left: “Is this what it’s come to, with this massive table representing the distance in our marriage?”

Felix, the servant, fiddling with who knows what, center, whispering: “Girl, don’t poke the bear. You know he has unregulated testosterone issues.”

Anders, husband, possible bear, right: “Whatever do you mean, my little nectarine?”

Greta: “I mean that you haven’t plucked my fruit for many months, and I’ve grown weary of the proffering without an appreciative harvest.”

Felix: “Oh God. Somebody’s going to throw something at some point. Why can’t these two just sublimate their issues like all the other people who can actually afford Art Deco furniture?”

Anders: “I suppose I could say that I don’t particularly relish sloppy seconds, but that would be too easy. Just like you.”

Greta: “Really, now? Are you implying that I’m the one who strayed? That’s rich. Everyone in the county knows about your salacious pursuit of hundreds of people that are not me.”

Felix: “I don’t think my sphincter can be any tighter.”

Anders: “Oh. Well, it’s possible that you might have some documentary evidence that could maybe impugn me a bit, as I don’t really remember many of the people, places and things that I’ve done. Perhaps it’s best that I simply eat my Eggs Benedict and continue hiding my earnings in offshore accounts.”

Greta: “That sounds splendid. And perhaps I should convince my army of divorce lawyers that they shouldn’t desecrate you entirely.”

Felix: “Okay, maybe I can relax now. I’ve polished this silver candlestick to the point that it can be seen from Venus.”

Anders: “Speaking of an army, and therefore military maneuvers, have you noticed that our butler is flexing his buttocks in a remarkably familiar manner.”

Greta: “Whatever do you mean?”

Felix: “Oh, this just took a turn for the worse. Why couldn’t I have paid more attention in high school?”

Anders: “I mean that I’ve seen that two-moon junction before. And if memory serves, that vision occurred when I barged into your room one morning, when I merely wanted to inquire on your thoughts about tax evasion, and instead I was treated to a rather aggressive example of a hole in one.”

Greta: “Ah, I do seem to recall a shift in atmosphere before he teed off. In the interest of self-preservation, allow me to confirm that his 9-iron has nothing on yours.”

Felix: “Sweet Jesus, just take me now.”

Anders: “I’m fully aware that he can’t compare.  After all, I went to Harvard. Now, I’m assuming that we’ve both finished this round with the same score, and we can go back to blithely ignoring each other’s time in the sand traps. Could you pass the salt?”

Greta: “Of course. Felix, could you be a dear and convey the condiment? You know I don’t do manual labor. Except for you. And maybe the gardener. But that one doesn’t really count. I had no idea his sprinkler system was so sensitive. We were done before it had even started.”

Felix: “Yes, ma’am. I will happily give it to your husband.”

Anders: “Not just yet, Felix. You know I don’t get frisky until after I’ve reviewed my stock earnings. Oh wait, are you still talking about the salt?”

 

Originally published in “Crusty Pie” on 02/28/18. Slightly revised and extended. For those of you who have noticed that Crusty has been dormant since March, my apologies. It’s one of the things I had to let slide, as I adjust my writing focus more towards my books. But I’ll have to fire it back up sooner or later, if only to have a go-to source for nights like this when I don’t have anything fresh to post. In the interim, cherish the time we had in the sand traps…

 

23 replies »

  1. Yeow. That was like Noel Coward with a knife. I’ll take Felix any day. Or should that be whatever time? But the set design is beautiful with the exception of plaid draperies. What’s that all about.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I’ll bet Felix is REALLY wishing he hadn’t gotten so carried away by the wardrobe allowance that he didn’t stop to read the whole job description before signing that lifetime family retainer contract…

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I do believe I commented in February on this particular Imperfect. I recognize the table, the Don-esque jaw set of the man at the table, and the sharp nosed profile of the woman. And those buttocks on the bald man at the mantle? Side board? Say! What IS that anyway….there are apparently curtains on either side of whatever it is, supporting the notion that nobody paid an interior decorator any substantial amount of money; although sloppy eighteenths may have been offered by either of the people at the table. Explains why it looks so shabby chic…

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ah, such a keen eye you have, noting the birth of the “shabby chic” trend that would eventually dominate social media nearly a century later for no sustainable reason. You are a visionary prophetess. Or at least someone who pays attention, which is much more than we can expect from many voters in this country…

      Liked by 1 person

      • Shabby chic social media…hmm. Am I guity of such? Perhaps now and then…but at least I haven’t hung plaid curtains by my fireplace…I blogged at some length yesterday about why I don’t “do” plaid ….the scars from 7th grade have never really faded… 😉

        Liked by 1 person

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