Past Imperfect

Past Imperfect – #327

It was the wedding of the decade, with the rich and famous for miles around flocking to view the nuptials. The reception afterwards was a smashing success, with the flashbulbs of the paparazzi lighting up the night and the gossip columnists rhapsodizing in the evening editions of all the important newspapers. But once the household staff had finally closed the door on the last of the revelers, the blushing bride knew that she had to address an issue with her new husband that was becoming alarmingly apparent.

Mae: “Darling?”

Frank: “Unnh…”

Mae: “I couldn’t help but notice something odd about you, so I have to ask…”

Frank: “Unnh….”

Mae: “Please don’t think it rude of me, you know I will always love you no matter what, but even the staff has been mentioning it lately and…”

Frank: “Unnnnh…”

Mae: “Why have you been wearing my panties?”

Frank: “Wait, what? I thought surely you were going to ask me about-”

Mae: “I mean, I know that you come from Bavaria or somewhere that has different traditions and different food and money that looks fake and all that, but here in our country we don’t go about wearing the bloomers of our loved ones. It simply isn’t done.”

Frank: “So that bothers you more than the fact that I have a flat head, the emotional maturity of a cactus, and studs in my neck that can get wi-fi from Sri Lanka?”

Mae: “Oh, Frankie, dearest, none of that is important. This is America. You can vote without having a properly-functioning brain, no one ever expects the males to fully mature, and if you can provide our friends with a hotspot to the Internet then they will ignore everything else going on around them. Except when it comes to sex. Some Americans are really hung up on what others might do in their own bedrooms. So, I can’t have you brazenly romping about in my thong, as it calls into question what might go on in our boudoir once the lights are dim and the absinthe has been uncorked, among other things. After all, I’m up for vice-president of the Garden Club and I really don’t need that horrible Agnetha Thornwick mucking things up with a photo of you parading around in my feminine finery.”

Frank: “How would Agnetha have possession of such a thing?”

Mae: “Well, one of the maids chanced upon you during one of your… private floor shows. As she was standing so near to you, she had an excellent signal and couldn’t resist posting her discovery to the Discovery Channel website. You’re currently number three on their buzz list with a trending hashtag. Anyway, I can deal with Agnetha, should the situation arise since I know what she did at band camp. Still, I need you to stop channeling Gypsy Rose Lee. It’s a small thing to ask, really.”

Frank: “For the sake of our newly-minted marriage?”

Mae: “Honey, there’s no sake in our marriage. You’re technically dead. I already own your fortune. No, I need you to scale it back a bit so I can springboard from Garden Club Vice-President to State Senator, which is another American way of doing things. Now, run off to bed whilst I do some damage control on social media.”

Frank, sighing: “Okay, my soulless soulmate. I’ll go lay face down in the coldness of our matrimonial mattress and try to figure out how this became as twisted as it is, with me once again wondering about my life choices and why it’s so hard for the reanimated to find true love.

Mae: “Splendid. Night, night, poodle. Oh, and Frankie?”

Frank: “Yes, Medusa?”

Mae: “Hand over my thong. I know you’ve got one on right now.”

Frank: “But can’t I keep at least one of them? For special occasions. We’ve got that gala at the Museum of Modern Art next week.”

Mae: “Fine. You can feel pretty for the Warhol exhibition. But after that, the panties go on the down low. There are far too many people who can post things on the Internet these days who really shouldn’t do so without supervision.”

 

Previously published. Slight changes made, because I’m one of those unsupervised people who can’t leave things alone when they should…

 

21 replies »

  1. Ah yes, the plight of the unsupervised internet access. Many have fallen before it (including, it is to be fervently hoped, a certain tangerine-tinted flathead, and no offence intended, Frank). But all is not lost, Frankie boy. Forget about Mae, order yourself a biography of Mary Shelley, find yourself a pet crow and get the bolt in your neck tightened. Then you’ll feel a whole lot better, dead or not. 😉

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Now that whole scenario was unexpected! I was waiting for the ‘big’ reveal…and it didn’t involve spangled underwear that some folks like to wear, flying their freak flag high. No. I was waiting for “Oh sweet mystery of life at last I’ve found you!! ♪♫♪♪♫” which used to incense my mother when Madelyn Kahn and Terri Garr sang it… She was a fan of Jeannette and Eddy who did it first and without thong-age ..

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Your mind wanders off unfettered yet again, Bela Lageose- sorry Brian Lugosi- ah well you know who you are. For some reason I have a feeling I’ve seen this guys likeness somewhere. I can’t help but have an affinity to him. Hmmm.
    Might I offer this snippet from Viktor’s Secret?
    ‘Oh, Mae, don’t get me wrong-
    I’m not comfortable in your thong,
    I prefer the sleek look of no-panty line,
    But this zipped-up stitched-up Frankenstein
    Is going to stick with your traditional frilly panty-
    Persisting in thin thongs I feel- it’s upping the ante.’

    Liked by 1 person

    • True story: Most folks who don’t know how to say my last name usually say “Lugosi”. I stopped correcting them years ago, because life is short and I’m tired.

      Your Secret of Viktor poetry ode is exquisite. Why are you not world-famous? The Fates are cruel mistresses, indeed…

      Liked by 1 person

      • Yes, I can see people going to the somewhat more familiar Lugosi. Living with a non-Smith or Jones moniker in an English speaking land is a trial. Believe me, I know. Thank you, my must-pass-on-all- the-Old-traditional-European family names parents! Be grateful-ish you merely had an odd last name. I realise in Oklahoma that was bad enough though!

        Liked by 1 person

  4. Speaking of questionable attire, I’ve been trying to get a better look at that framed picture hanging over the bed. Anyone who keeps such odd material on the wall has little right to question her partner’s wardrobe choices. J.

    Liked by 1 person

    • The framed picture is actually of me, captured during one of my more demure moments when I was pensively pondering what I should wear to the cotillion Saturday next. (I ended up not going, as I developed a rash that did not match my planned outfit.) 😉

      Liked by 1 person

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