Ruth: “I suppose we should get up and actually do something with our lives.”
Betty: “I don’t really see the point. I still have plenty of cigarettes left, I could do this all day. Although it would be nice to have an ashtray. Sorry about the carpet, dear.”
Ruth: “I suppose I could have one of the servants round one up, assuming we still have servants. That stock market has been really pesky lately. Do you remember what their names are, if we still have them?”
Betty: “They have names?”
Ruth: “Of course, dear. You have to put something on their paychecks.”
Betty: “Oh, I suppose they would, then. But can I ask you a question?”
Ruth: “Certainly. I hide nothing in this house except the good silverware, my jewelry, and unplanned pregnancies. Ask away.”
Betty: “Do you realize this is not actually a sectional sofa? It’s just two regular ones shoved up against each other, and not all that well.”
Ruth, sighing: “Yes, dear. I’m aware of the indiscretion. I noticed it about three years ago when my lithium prescription ran out and I couldn’t get an immediate refill. That same afternoon I also discovered that there is a third floor to this house. I had no idea before then.”
Betty: “That must have been a terrible day for you. However did you make it through?”
Ruth: “By getting a better pharmacist.”
Previously published. No changes made, as I’m still waddling around the house, stuffed full of turkey and unable to focus on anything productive for longer than three seconds…
Categories: Past Imperfect
Bonnywood Manor 
Fits perfectly
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The couches? Or my inability to turn my imagination off?
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The story my friend. The couches are okay-ish!
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What the heck is Ruth holding? I appears to be some sort of knick knack… but why? Was she admiring it and got bored? Was she preparing to fire at someone or theatrically at the wall or floor, is it Betty’s missing ashtray? Why are the so dressed and coiffed for a lazy day on the couches? Seriously… what ARE they wearing? And where’s the cabana boy with the beverages? And nibbles, some cheese and crackers would splendid. 🍹🧀🥖🥐
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The object that Ruth is holding is a diamond encrusted cigarette lighter in the shape of the Pillsbury Doughboy.
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I was curious about Ruth’s little gadget as well. Since this is a still from the 1949 version of “The Great Gatsby”, perhaps that thing in her hand is the special key that unlocks her trust fund.
And that lamp is ENORMOUS. The shade alone could house a family of five in certain countries.
But yes, that cabana boy needs to bring the drinks, stat.
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There is NO Chesterfields smoking on the Chesterfields, gals.
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Something tells me these trust fund kids aren’t going to heed your proclamation…
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I see their point
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About a speedier pharmacist? The furniture arrangement? The wise decision to lounge on couches all day? The sage advice about checking for extra floors in your house? So many ways I could run with this… 😉
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Tryptophan overdoses run rampant this time of year. I’m experiencing a mild one myself….
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I’ve essentially been in a coma since Wednesday when we started prepping the first dishes…
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I could use a sofa like that myself. Every so often, I dream that we find a hidden wing in our house so I know how Ruth feels:-)
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I have dreams about houses as well, all the time. (I’m being serious, this is not a setup for a punchline.) I’ve had them since I was very little, and they often involved me sneaking into grand houses and living in them on the sly, at least for a few hours. Lots of psychology going on with that mess, with the root being a terrible childhood where I never felt like I belonged.
Sorry to get so deep. But hey, we’re friends, right? Just a little bit of bonding…
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Absolutely. I think mine come from the same place, a need to escape to a secret place😊 The older I get, the rarer they are, which is probably a good thing, but I miss the thrill of discovery!
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The ‘cigarette’ Betty is holding is hand rolled and stuffed with something that the Tobacco Growers of America never put in theirs. The herb is from Hawaii or Mexico or somewhere hot where people are automatically languid and unmotivated because it IS hot. And ladies don’t like to sweat. Especially in ‘fine’ gowns sewn by hand and made to match (in theory) the Chesterfields on which the unmotivated pair languish. Ruth is now wondering when Betty will pass the unsanctioned ‘cigarette’ so she can take a hit. They are not thinking about anything at all, more taxing than if their shoes might match their outfits, and where the gardener is, who provided the special herb from Hawaii that begat all that lazing around, looking decorative and not much else…. (this comment does not advocate drug use. The author of the post already did that (subtly). Heh… koff koff koff… okay blow the smoke in someone else’s direction Betty! I don’t inhale, but it doesn’t mean I can’t get a secondary high…
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Yep, I opened myself up for that one. Not for the first time, of course. Still, I’m glad you ran in the direction you did. It provides a nice counterpoint and exudes a dedication to wordsmithing. Of course, accomplishing ANYTHING has never truly crossed the minds of either of these two. Unless it comes to spending large amounts of money on fancy couture and ill-purposed Chesterfields…
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I’ve had a few Covid days like this as well … It’s hard work to do no thing ☺️💫 smiles hedy
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It really IS hard work, trying to keep oneself from accomplishing anything worthwhile. Still, I practice as often as I can… 😉
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Tooth: Your dress matches my sofa. I almost can’t see you.
Sweaty: Stop criticising. I can’t help what they made me wear for this stupid photo. You’re no better. And oh, I’m so hot!
Tooth: You’re just a hot mess!
Sweaty: No I’m not. I’m hot. And this dress is just so itchy.
Tooth: You probably have the clap. And I’m going to have to sanitise that sofa you’ve draped yourself on.
Sweaty: Look, I know that your dentist lover left you with an unfinished root canal, so just go to a tree surgeon and get it fixed already. Stop taking it out on the rest of us.
😉
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Good show!
Later that night, after Tooth and Sweaty had changed into designer swimwear and were lounging poolside in the languid heat, they both suddenly realized that their constant bickering was a psychological subterfuge to hide their true feelings. They immediately announced their love for one another and they moved to a small island in Greece, where no one questioned why they might be wearing matching outfits. After all, it was 1949, and one still had to be discretionary when same-sex sofas were involved….
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…and is that a fern in the background, or a giant mutant spider from outer space? We can only hope for the latter. J.
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That fern DID catch my eye, but it was such a startling image that I wasn’t quite sure where I should go with it. Thank you for finding the right path… 😉
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I am rather enamored of the fern, myself, and greatly interested in learning the name of the servant who cares for it cause it sure ain’t one of them gals.
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After some rather intrepid research, and a subtle exchanging of discretionary payoffs, I can firmly confirm that the fern was lovingly maintained by someone named Lola. She was a showgirl…
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