Past Imperfect

Past Imperfect – #270

Michael: “My darling, isn’t it lovely, being out in here in the woods?”

Liza: “Well, I suppose you could say that. But there is one thing that’s troubling me…”

Michael, sighing: “I knew this day would come. But I can assure you that despite what you’ve heard at the Kit Kat Klub, I did not sleep with that man from Prague. I slept with your other boyfriend.”

Liza: “Interesting. Remind me to follow up on that at a later time. But right now I’m more concerned about what I’m seeing over there.”

Michael: “Is it someone else that I slept with and shouldn’t have?”

Liza: “Really, dear, it would be nice if you weren’t knocking boots with the entire country, but we have a more pressing issue, so let’s try to focus.”

Michael: “You’re right, my little bearded love. Pray tell, what does thou see on yonder rise?”

Liza: “I believe I am watching an Austrian family running from Nazis while climbing a mountain and singing songs about kittens with whiskers and a female deer and some flower with a long-ass name.”

Michael: “That sounds like a musical I would never go to see, despite my previously-undiscussed predilections for showtunes and Kit Kat connections.”

Liza: “And now there’s a nun running along and waving a distributor cap. Should we be concerned?”

Michael: “I’m more concerned about how it’s possible for you to close your eyes with all that mascara.”

Liza: “Oh, we went there, did we? Well, perhaps I should ask how it’s possible for you to close your legs.”

Three seconds of silent reflection as the duo contemplated the severity of what their next words should be. Even a nearby deer, frolicking along with a butterfly that had once appeared in a Disney movie, paused to see where this was going. (The butterfly did not notice or pause, because butterflies, despite their prettiness, have brains the size of a neutron.)

Then the duo laughed it off and went back to doing what they had been doing, with Liza lackadaisically tracking the nun on the run and Michael wondering just what he might have missed by not sleeping with the man from Prague.

 

Previously published. I did mess around with the ending a bit, just for fun. And yes, I realize that this post is not as enjoyable if you haven’t seen at least one of the movies referenced, but that’s what you sometimes get here at Bonnywood, an unseemly amount of trivia and a butterfly that doesn’t know when to stop.

 

19 replies »

  1. To be clear, in case picketers come at my neck, I was being sarcastic. And at the same time, I was taking a swipe at a married subscriber who welcomed me to Twitter with an album full of his mini trouser snack, sorry, I meant snake. (It’s sad that I have to explain sarcasm to casual readers but this is the state of the world.)

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Lately when I click on your post from my email, I sometimes get an error message saying it can’t be found. For a while I thought you had changed your mind and deleted the post, but I remembered this one and so went directly to your page – sure enough, here it is.
    I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, except if I’ve seemed haphazard in my visits to your abode, this might explain it.

    As for this post, all I have to say is, we all wonder what we missed by not sleeping with the man from Prague.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Here’s the deal: I’m one of those people (and perhaps you have seen commentary here and there about such) that WordPress needlessly tortures. There are times when I submit a post, yet said post does not appear in The Reader. When I see that not happening, I refresh for a certain amount of time to make sure it’s not a server issue, and if the post still fails to appear, I copy and re-post. Magically, I now appear in the reader, twice. I delete the first post and say a silent mea culpa to the folks who will click on a link to nowhere. If you are an email follower, I would imagine that this can be confusing. I don’t like doing it, but if I DON’T do it, then no one sees the post except folks who come directly to my blog and, frankly, most people don’t do that. They depend on The Reader.

      And I often wonder, every so often, how my life would have differed had I slept with the man from Prague, Oklahoma. (Yes, it’s a real place. I used to design cable-pair assignments for new phone service in that town 30-odd years ago when I worked at GTE.) Small world, eh?

      Liked by 1 person

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