Kim: “Now, Marlon, let’s not jump to conclusions here.”
Marlon: “How can I not jump? I come home from a hard day’s work of looking sexy as hell on the streets of New Orleans and I find this!”
Kim: “It’s not what you think.”
Marlon: “Well, I think you’ve been to Hobby Lobby again, buying all this cheap plastic crap for projects that you are never going to do. We’ve talked about this. You should never shop at Hobby Lobby because the owners are against women’s rights and they won a Supreme Court lawsuit so their employee insurance doesn’t cover female contraception but it does cover male enhancement products.”
Kim: “Oh, that’s what you’re thinking. Okay, well, yes, that’s what I did. I went craft shopping. I certainly didn’t slip away to Mardi Gras and bare my breasts just so drunken men could hurl strands of beads my way and I could snatch them up in a fever of validation. Nope, didn’t do that at all.”
Marlon: “Well, I really wish you would listen to me. No more trips to Hobby Lobby, please. Now, I’m going to go watch the news coverage of the Mardi Gras parades.”
Kim: “Uh oh.”
Marlon: “That’s an odd response. Do you not like me watching the parades? I do it every year.”
Kim: “No, it’s not that, it’s… um… there’s a problem with the TV.”
Marlon: “A problem? The TV was fine when I left this morning.”
Kim: “Well, something happened today that shouldn’t have, and now the TV isn’t working. Say, why don’t you run grab you a beer in the kitchen and I’ll see if I can fix the problem.”
Sounds of Marlon marching one way.
Sounds of Kim running in another.
Sounds of something slamming into the floor in the living room.
Marlon, rushing into said room, holding a beer that was already half empty, as he was a hot man in a hot city and hydration was important: “Why the hell is the TV all busted on the floor?”
Kim: “That’s the problem that I was talking about.”
Marlon: “Did you just do that? Because I didn’t see the TV on the floor when I got home two minutes ago.
Kim: “Well, you’re tired after your long day. It’s understandable that you might not notice things.”
Marlon: “I certainly noticed you on that balcony on Bourbon Street.”
Kim: “What do you mean by…”
Marlon: “I’m the one who threw the third strand of beads.”
Kim, eyes widening: “I remember catching that third strand. Actually, I didn’t catch it with my hands. It snagged on my left nipple, which is no surprise since that one has always been the perkier of the twins.”
Marlon: “Yeah, that little development certainly gave new meaning to the concept of hula-hooping.”
Kim: “But wait. That snagging happened right as a group of drag queens was passing by in the parade.”
Marlon: “And my stage name is Mildred Pierced.”
Brief pause as things were processed. Except for the TV. The TV was no longer processing anything.
Kim: “It seems that we might have a few things to talk about.”
Marlon: “Agreed. It’s long overdue, as is every discussion in a Tennessee Williams play. Would you like me to fetch you a beer from the fridge?”
Kim: “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”
Previously published in “Crusty Pie” and “Bonnywood Manor”. Note: We have three successive waves of family coming to visit over the next three weeks. (Why they would want to come to Texas in July is beyond me, but they’re family, so, yeah, it’s happening.) This means you may see more reposts than usual as I tend to their incessant needs. Or it may mean that I shove three fresh posts out there every day as a means of psychological therapy. We shall see. Please brace yourselves for either development…
Categories: Past Imperfect