Here we go again, folks, with another opportunity for you to seize the moment and interpret the goings-on in a random photo. In this particular case, I thought it would be festive to attempt a simulation of what I go through when I create all those “Past Imperfect” stories. (Nearly 600 and counting! Which is a sad reflection of how much free time I have on my hands, if you really think about it. So we won’t.)
In this proffering, we have Barbara Stanwyck and Henry Fonda in a still from “The Lady Eve”. It’s been decades since I perused this movie, and I no longer recall what is/was going on in this scene. But that’s the perfect part about “Past Imperfects”: It doesn’t matter what really happened; it matters where you go from here. And there’s quite a bit to work with in this snap.
Barbara’s hairstyle.
Henry’s sad little boutonnière.
Both of their expressions.
The suspicious plant in the background. Is someone hiding behind it? Why are they hiding? What has Barbara or Henry or both done that would merit bush subterfuge?
Why is one of them apparently drinking water whilst the other is doing shots? Or is the water in that glass really gin and somebody has a bigger problem than the shot-shooter?
What is wrong with Henry’s left hand? Because, let’s face it, that doesn’t look right. And it’s bigger than his head.
Okay, I think that’s enough launching points. Let’s see what you can do. And, since this is a “Past Imperfect” and this is Bonnywood, you have the right to go back and edit your original story and republish it, pretending that it’s a new story. Because I do that all the time around here, if you haven’t noticed.
Cheers.
Categories: Humor
Bonnywood Manor 
It’s okay darling, it’s not about the muscles in your arm.
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Henry does look a bit malnourished and overwhelmed by that dinner jacket…
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Do you think I should grow my bangs out? Tell the truth.
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Henry: “Girl, you’ve got so much Perma-Frizz chemicals in our hair that I don’t think bangs are even an option. But the vested shirt is cute, let’s go with that…”
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O Henry! What’s wrong, my darling? You look absolutely bereft..
I’ve decided to pack it in, Barbara.
Pack what in, darling?
My acting career. This whole Hollywood farce. I’m moving to the Yukon, solo, well, i’ll have a pack of dogs with me. And a healthy supply of gin.
But darling, do you even like gin. What’s that you have? Tequila?
Here. Take this. You can have mine. It’s dirt cheap gin. The strong juniper notes will have you feeling better in no time. And i mean, no time. You’ll have no idea what time it is, what day it is, or where you are. I drink this every month to get rid of those hideous cramps i get when Aunt Flo visits.
Please, Barbara. No talk about your annoying aunts.
I’m only trying to help, Henry. Sorry to be a pain. I blame my hair. Anyway, i don’t think the weather in the Yukon will agree with you. It snows. A lot. Do you even know how to use a shovel?
I can learn, Barbara. I’m pretty smart.
Why do you want to pack it in, O Henry? Your acting career is going swimmingly. You deserve a Golden Bowl.. I mean, statue.
I can’t be a Hollywood stud, Barbara, if i can’t get it up.
It? Oh yes, that. I might be able to help you with that, darling. I do have a way with those things, you know. And it’s years yet before the likes of Cialis and Viagra will be invented, and your health plan will cover it.
No. Sorry Barbara. The Yukon it is. I’ll have the gin to keep me warm!
Fine, then, i’m going to miss you, darling Henry.
Barbara, you can come visit me and the dogs. I’ll build you beautiful fires. Have enough alcohol flown in. We can stay offline and play a lot of Scrabble.
Go that far north, Henry?! What would it do to my hair and skin? Unlike you, i enjoy this Hollywood farce. The greed and the glory and the scandal! I’m staying put! Love you though! Never forget me and my curly bangs!
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This is exquisite. And I have no qualms in saying that you far exceeded my own work-in-progress interpretation of the proceedings. And the “O Henry” reference? Sublime. I think you should join the writing staff here at Bonnywood. And I don’t offer that lightly. Of course, you won’t get paid, because we ain’t got no money since the retirement, but still… 😉
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I would love to join your writing staff. That would be a blast! How do i proceed?
And thank you. I’m happy you enjoyed my interpretation. You make it easy, you post such great photos so full of story potential!
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Well, I do have to say that I was being somewhat facetious with the writing-staff invitation. (After all, Bonnywood Manor has no known benefactors, so the money supply for hired scribblers is woefully inadequate.) But that aside? I relish your imagination and I would be more than happy to share any word-smithing you might produce. Let’s do lunch, shall we? 😉
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Oh i got it. 🙂 No worries. My imagination goes a little overboard sometimes. Okay, way overboard. Lol. It would be fun if Bonnywood was kind of a writer’s colony in Tuscany or somewhere, where we could all work on our stories and drink lots of wine and gin. Sound good? 😀
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An unexpected error occurred so you were deleted from my second blog account followers. Please follow it again. https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/98199329
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Lol
And we’ll, for my sake and no doubt I can speak for others,
I love the time you have on your hands
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Oh, I secretly love the time on my hands as well. But I love your comments even more…. 😉
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Barb: Aw Henry, don’t be morose. I know it’s a blow. But there had to be somebody walk into this … what is this place anyway? It doesn’t look like a bar or club. It rather looks like a doctor’s office or a laboratory. I told you the idea of opening a joint (night spot, club, hep and happenin’ place to be) with the idea of making everyone feel at home, which, let us face it, is the workplace these days. Who has time to even go home any more? It’ costs more than it’s worth. Ahem… Barb trails off, suddenly aware that Henry isn’t paying her the slightest attention. She is a bit miffed, for she has been told that she is perky and damned cute, and most men fall all over themselves if she even looks in their direction.
Henry: Long soulful sigh.
Barb: Well I know she had to walk into some place. Why it had to be this gin joint is just bad luck. And Bogie is rather touchy about people stealing scenes (which may or may not have really happened) from ‘his’ classic films. At least we had Paris (dear)..
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As usual, your take is delicious and subversive. But once you mentioned Bogie, well, my mind wandered to a not so delicious but still subversive previous post in which I had Ivanka Trump get the runs in a swanky African restaurant-slash-bar, which means I’m making it all about me, once again. Ivanka would understand… 😉
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‘Don’t worry about the kids, Hank, Petey will grow out of speeding around on his tricycle, and as for Janey stretching the boundaries- it, it will all work out’ .
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Hold up. This is America, where, due to yet another of Trump’s insipid Executive Orders, we are not allowed to worry about the eventual fate of our children as long as Corporate America gets a healthy tax deduction that they don’t really need. You need to go sit in that corner over there and rethink any thoughts that involve decency…
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But… but… don’t he look after his offsprung? Look, his daughter, son in law and everyone – almost- who spilled from his loins are his cabinet, ain’t they? Oh, yeah, sorry, one rule for them, one for the poor rabble… I’m off to the corner, to ruminate on my sins.
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There’s NEPOTISM in Washington D.C.? Oh my heck!! Say it ain’t so! The thought that Trump actually procreated makes me so nauseated that a visit to the porcelain throne may be in very short order. The decency thing was over in roughly 1981. We haven’t seen a whole lot of that since Carter toddled out of the office (I know he was inept and a ‘bad’ (read ineffectual) president, but he had ETHICS dammit and was honest). I hope your blog is not flooded with people wishing to point out what’s wrong with that statement. I never claimed to be a great historian after all…. .:|
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– Oh Barb, I’m so constipated! If only I could just go to the toilet, I know everything will come out all right!
– Henry, my darling, I’ll help you get to the pot.
– I feel like crap and all you can think of is plant-based pleasure!
– Darling, you feel that way because you are that way. Just full of it. Come along now and let the bran flakes do their job. There’s a good little pensive actor.
😉
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Suddenly, Donald Trump walked into the room, impressing no one despite his inner belief that his mere existence was proof that God exists. “I know just how to make your colon great again.”
Barb: “Let me guess. You’re going to say something so incredibly offensive that any decent person will have an immediate bowel movement, hoping to rid themselves of the toxins you exude.”
Trump: “Oh. Well, I guess you’ve been studying my playbook.”
Barb: “How could we not, when you expose your ass on TV every day?”
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Hahaha! That’s terrific! 🙂
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He: I must be dead, i can’t feel my pulse.
She: its alright, i can drink some more and then we can both be zombies together.
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So said everyone who ever voted for Trump. But I’m not bitter…
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