Past Imperfect

Past Imperfect – #570

It was at this precise moment that Clara realized her lover had been cheating on her. It was the same moment when Charles first noticed that his lover sported an unnatural pallor that spoke of midnight resurrections and a possible guest appearance in an Anne Rice novel. One would think these two negatives would automatically cancel the other and this relationship spat was therefore a draw, but Clara simply could not let things go, her being from The Bronx and all.

Clara: “So, you’ve been shtupping the milkmaid, have you?”

Charles: “What on earth gave you that idea?”

Clara: “You smell like cheese! I don’t smell like cheese. I go to a clinic to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Charles: “Okay, first of all, what the hell kind of clinic is that? You know what, never mind. We only have so much time on this earth. Second, just like I’ve told you a million times, I was raised on a dairy farm and that smell never goes away. I will reek of bovine lactation until the day they shove me in a casket. Speaking of, have you been in one of those before?”

Clara: “Don’t make this about me. You’re the one looking for cheese in all the wrong places.”

Charles: “You’ve already made it all about you. I’m just pinch-hitting. And you’re avoiding my question and trying to spin the story. Are you a Republican as well?”

Clara: “How dare you accuse me of being Undead!”

Charles: “While I can appreciate the similarities between the two, these are actually separate questions. Let me focus on the first, and I’ll try to be more specific. Do you walk the night and suck the lifeblood out of otherwise innocent people as they make their way home from the Piggly Wiggly supermarket?”

Clara: “Maybe. I’m not signing anything.”

Charles: “I knew it! Ever since that night I got frostbite when we cuddled and I nearly lost a toe.”

Clara, now desperate, because the romance options are limited on social media when you don’t have a pulse: “But all the therapists say that if you want a healthy relationship, the partners should have outside interests so that their time together is more meaningful. I just have a little hobby that may or may not involve the taking of lives. Surely we can get past this. If Melania can stay married to Donald Trump despite his conquest of extramarital cheeses, there’s hope for us all.”

Charles: “That last bit is not really a good selling point. Still, I have enjoyed our time together, despite the oddity of me being able to see my breath when I’m around you. But I do have one final question.”

Clara: “Ask away, my beloved. I promise to answer in a way that sounds truthful but still protects my lies in a court of law.”

Charles: “Will we be able to procreate, considering that one of us is undead?”

Clara: “Of course. That’s how Ivana Trump was able to give birth to Donald Trump Junior.”

 

Originally published in “Crusty Pie” on 03/15/18. Slight changes made for this post. And yes, I realize that two out of my last three posts have involved relationships where one of the partners has been resurrected from the dead. I’m not really trying to make a statement about such, pure happenstance, but if I make a THIRD post on this theme, well, someone might want to alert my therapist. Or at least my partner…

 

21 replies »

  1. I thought about the possibility that DT smells like cheese. Then I thought, nope. He smells like old yoghurt that has been dropped in one of Lebron James’s practise runners and buried under a chicken coop. That’s why he always sounds like he’s breathing through his ears. And Melania? I’m starting to think she’s being held hostage. 😉

    Liked by 1 person

  2. AHA!! I KNEW that horrible orange skin ‘tone’ was fake tan in a can. If you peeled it away (provided you could get close enough without choking on the fumes that Undead waft about like so much cheap perfume) you’d find that horrid greeny blue black color of long dead corpses (not that I’ve seen any except in certain Stephen King Graphic Novels and “Tales from the Crypt” ) and bits probably peeling off with the overcoat. Perhaps that orange assbag is shellacked. That hair isn’t fooling anyone certainly and I have this unsavory mind picture of Melania (I hate that bitch. One vowel…and one is branded for life grrr) of her or Ivana or that other one that nobody ever remembers, clutching that toupee in the throes of passion (gawd I’m making myself sick now) and it ripping free, pulling bits of scalp (give the guy some Head & Shoulders QUICK..the dandruff might just kill ..!) and bone away, and the fact being revealed to the whole world that it’s true. T-Dump has no brain. Scarecrow? You missing a clan member??

    That got off track from your usual excellent Imperfect. I suspect Clara (oh Clara! Can’t someone give you some decent rouge?? One thing about those vampires, their hair is always perfect…no wait. That’s WEREWOLVES, particularly those in London..but I digress. Again. ) of gazing soulfully at her erstwhile Charles (who looks oddly like Tony Curtis .. the good years) and asking, in a wan little voice; “Tic Tac dear? Altoid? You really need to pay more attention to brushing your teeth, ’cause your breath smells suspiciously of cheese…”

    Liked by 1 person

    • Whew, you finally brought it back around to the cheese. We certainly went on a bumpy ride there, not complaining at all, and I had no idea where the twists and turns were going to take us. Good fun!

      Like

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