Larry: “What fresh hell is this?”
Jennie: “It appears that an army of photographers is aware of the fact that we were having a meeting with a marriage counselor. I wonder how that might have happened, He Who Can’t Keep His Mouth Shut.”
Larry: “I assure you I had nothing to do with this development. I’m an opera singer, a vocation that does not necessarily reek of testosterone. I certainly don’t need word getting out that I can no longer satisfy a woman.”
Jennie: “You seem to be implying that you ever satisfied me in the first place.”
Larry: “That’s a bit harsh, even for you. I seem to recall a time when we were quite passionate in our lovemaking.”
Jennie: “I think you’re confusing passion with bemusement. I will admit that the first time you sang an aria near my hoo-hoo I was rather entranced, not having experienced such before. But the novelty soon wore off. After a while, a woman no longer cares if you can hit a High C and they just want you to hit the Big O.”
Larry: “Well, you could have said something.”
Jennie: “I tried, Larry. But operas are incredibly long and I was exhausted by the time we got to intermission. And it didn’t help that you had a full orchestra playing beside the bed. No one could hear my screams. There was simply far too much going on.”
Larry: “Like that outfit you’re wearing? How are you able to walk with all those accessories?”
Jennie: “Don’t change the subject. The focus here is on your own accessory, assuming that anyone can ever find it again.”
Larry: “Why so much bitterness? At what point did we become enemies? I never intended for that to happen.”
Jennie, slowing her determined march toward their separate cars: “And I didn’t either. Perhaps we spent too much time together.”
Larry: “And perhaps we didn’t spend enough. Is there any way we can salvage this?”
Jennie, sighing: “No, I think we’ve moved beyond that. Too many stabs, too many times. I don’t think we were meant to be lovers. But maybe…”
Larry: “Yes?”
Jennie: “Maybe we can be friends. Maybe that’s all we should have been.”
Larry: “Indeed. So, truce?”
Jennie: “For now. Let’s go have coffee and see what we can make of the ashes.”
Originally published in “Crusty Pie” on 02/16/18. No changes made.
I just have to share this comment exchange from the original post:
CJ Hartwell: “This took a turn I wasn’t prepared for. Now I’m feeling strangely blue for Jennie with the dead weasels round her neck, when before I only felt bad for the weasels. Oh Brian, please tell me Jennie found happiness, not to mention gratification, at last?”
Brian: “I so hope you get this: Jennie did eventually find happiness, and you can learn more by calling 867-5309…”
Categories: Past Imperfect
Bonnywood Manor 
Who is this Jennie and this Larry that you speak so fervently
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of? I think I should know them but sadly, I do not.😢 Larry is an opera singer. Is Jennie a trapper? Because it looks like she dragged those varmits over 30 miles of bad trail and then all the way from Alaska or Yukon or wherever she’s from. Was it a bad case of the Bachelorette gone wrong? Did she give him a belt … er, pelt, rather than a rose? So many questions, so little time. 😉
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You bring up some very valid queries, many of them mirroring my own concerns. All I can say with any degree of certainty is that I found this photo on an Australian archival site documenting days gone by. To say much beyond that could expose me to litigation. But Larry really was an opera singer, and Jennie may well have been a trapper, for lack of a better word…
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Great post 😃
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Thank you!
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Jennie is wearing my grandmother’s fur. I’d wondered where that got to.
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Jennie has a lot of questions that she needs to answer…
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Opera may be the least of their worries. Larry isn’t wearing a wedding ring and is carrying binoculars. Coincidence? I think not!
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Exactly. First impressions are often the truth…
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Ugh Christ, people who wear animals as fashion accessories deserve to be Ace Ventura’d: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DmPtlxo3iwM
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I approve this message wholeheartedly, even though I’m not running for political office and therefore won’t gain anything from my questionable endorsement…
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Larry (or Harry, or Jerry) needs some attention given to his nose hairs IF he is to get near enough to any woman to attempt satisfying her. I thought at first that might be a mustache, but upon further perusal, it’s either abundant nose hairs or a shadow OR speaks that the fellow likes indulging in powder and I ain’t talking about snow. ‘Course trying to hoist his mainsail with Jenny might have driven him to the powder. SHE looks like she’s one of those women who insists on driving the car, and hoisted her own mainsail so many times that she’s forgotten what actual human contact might feel like. I’ll avoid mentioning her ‘fur’ as I find that appalling. And who matches their HAT to their purse? I guess there was a big sale on that fabric and someone saw an opportunity. And someone needs to clue her in that a brooch and a big corsage? Overkill, not mentioning the weasels. This pair was star crossed, am I correct?
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Agreed. There is so much wrong with this photo that one can only weep for mankind. On the flip side, there is so much wrong with mankind that one can only… hell, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s best that I simply retire for the evening and stop contemplating the ways in which things have gone wrong. But I will pause to inspect the status of my nose hairs, as there’s only so much one blame on the shadows…
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I am SO glad you posted my previous comment because, you know, I was *thisclose* to repeating it and… oh, you did know and that’s why you posted it!
You sly dog, you. 😉
Still worried about Jennie though.
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You know me so well, aptly interpreting my actions with precision and grace. But Jennie? Poor girl has never fully explained why her number was on the wall to begin with…
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