Past Imperfect

Past Imperfect – #379


Greta was feeling a bit blue.

She hadn’t seen her lover in days and she was beginning to suspect that their torrid relationship had run its course. If so, then Ramon’s sudden disinterest had come at a rather inopportune time, as he had been handling both her and her finances and there were several bills coming due at the end of the month. Who would help her? Who could she turn to in this time of need?

A male voice rang out. “Are you there, darling?”

Greta was perplexed. As far as she knew, there was no one else in the room. Otherwise, she would have already been using her womanly charms to ensure that her credit card continued to have a healthy spending limit. Wait. Was she having some type of religious experience? Greta was a bit fuzzy on exactly what happened when one was having such, recalling murky details from her unproductive internment at Saint Gladys’ School for Potential Trollops in her younger years. Weren’t you supposed to have visions while you got teary-eyed and an orchestra played in the background? None of that seemed to be happening at the moment.

Still, the electric bill was due, and one would think God could take care of that with the wave of an angel-scented hand. She might as well play along until things proved otherwise. Greta flopped her head back and gazed at the ceiling in what she presumed was a beatific and financially-insolvent manner. “Yes, Father. Um… thank you for stopping by.”

The voice came again. “Is your father here? I though we agreed to keep this apartment secret. Especially from people like your family and my wife.”

Greta’s eyes dropped from the ceiling to a much lower and more intimate locale. “Ramon? How is your voice coming from my passion flower?”

Ramon: “Darling, I’m nowhere near your secret garden. But I am under your dress.”

Greta: “I don’t understand.”

Ramon: “And I don’t understand why your father is here. We talked about this.”

Greta, exasperated: “My father isn’t here. I briefly thought I was having a Jesus moment.”

Ramon: “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

Greta: “Then don’t. Why are you in my knickers? What happened, when?”

Ramon: “Well, I was sneaking up to surprise you with a box of Swiss chocolates when I tripped over one of your bills and wound up down here.”

Greta, realizing that the money supply was not necessarily dry and she had best work this angle as best she could: “You brought me chocolates? How sweet of you.”

Ramon: “I already ate them. I’ve been trapped down here for two days. Do you ever get off this couch when I’m not here?”

Greta: “Two days? It must have been a horrible ordeal.”

Ramon: “Not really. There’s plenty of room and I’ve been doing some remodeling, sprucing the place up a bit. In fact, that’s why I called out to you, so you could get me a few supplies.”

Greta: “Whatever you need, my well-funded love.”

Ramon: “Could you ring for one of the servants to bring me my croquet set and some of that gin I find fetching? I’ve just had some fresh sod installed under your bum and I was thinking of having some friends over for drinks and a game or two.” 


Previously published, modified a bit. And yes, that expression on Greta’s face is the same one I usually have whenever the electric bill is due. Or any bill. I like my money and I want to keep it. Why do so many people insist on me sharing? Geez.


Suddenly, a voice rises up from between my own legs: “Daddy?

Me: “Yes, Cleo.”

Cleo the Cat: “I want to play croquet and drink gin.”

Me: “You don’t have the right skill set to do that.”

Cleo: “Well, you don’t have the skill to write good stories but you keep trying.”

Me: “Thank you for your input. But I have a question for you.”

Cleo: “What color should the croquet balls be?”

Me: “Not quite. Do you like the treats that I give you?”

Cleo: “They give me a purpose in life.”

Me: “Splendid. Now, what do you think a good kitty should do if she wants to keep getting them?”

Cleo: “Order online and use your credit card?”

Me: “No, you stop being annoying and walk away and… wait, what credit card?”

Cleo: “The one that’s not in your wallet anymore. If you ever want to see it again, there will be a fresh treat in my bowl every time I sniff at the contents.”

Me: “You realize I can just cancel the credit card, right?”

Cleo: “Not if I changed the password on your account. Okay, I’m going to go in another part of the house and stare at things you can’t see coming. Have a nice day!”

She sauntered out of the room, with her tail maybe or maybe not flipping me off.

I ignored her threats and just kept typing on my laptop, which is how I deal with most everything in life…


19 replies »

  1. Those are dress extensions. The style crew attach and detach them at will, so actually, dear Greta is definitely having a spiritual moment. But not the kind that comes from above; the kind that comes from a bottle or two of boozy regret about having to sit for this photo to pay the bills that Ramon ran up. 😉

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Um. Okay I’m without a comment, either sarky or just plain ‘ol. So I’ll latch onto the Cleo insert, which was magnificent if I might render an opinion. There is something afoot (a paw to be more accurate) in the world of pets (well yours and mine anyway). An attitude, which I realize that cats automatically gain, the first time some human goggles at their kitteny cuteness, that makes them entitled for the rest of their nine lives. Dogs, on the other hand, are SUPPOSED to be goofy and the reverse situation occurs. THEY (not humans) get goggly eyed and slobber and breathe and drool at the sight of “their’ human being. But Ziggy has been acting suspiciously feline lately. I don’t know where the ‘tude is coming from either, given that he is forced to isolate if I do, we’re a pair and always travel about as if joined at the hip. Ask visitors who broach my portal (door). They’re treated to a lot of barking (from Ziggy, although I’ve been known to do that occasionally too. Don’t just drop in. Give someone some warning first!! At least then I can put on some clothes or something). Visitors can also expect a thorough sniffing over, and either joyous leaps at the new friend Ziggy has discovered OR suspicious glances with a distinct possibility of growling in the forecast (actually that’s only happened once when some sketchy individual appeared at dusk, ringing my doorbell and trying to foist something unwanted on me). What’s up with the pets? Maybe you can ask Dr. Brian and see if he knows. It’s disconcerting and distracting too. Or there would have surely been a treatise on that monstrous dress ‘set’ that the poor woman is being swallowed by..

    Liked by 1 person

    • Terrific comment, once again, full of the cleverness I so love…

      You know, the more I think about it, perhaps the real thing that should be studied in these situations is the Hoomans. Why do we turn into such jelly when it comes to our pets? (Well, not all humans. There are some folks out there who would rather walk on broken glass for eternity than be anywhere near an animal. I don’t understand those people, and they wouldn’t last two seconds at Bonnywood.) We pet-people go out of our way to treat out pets like royalty, fixing them special treats and building them little “thrones” for the to snooze on and buying them mounds of toys that they may or may not even touch. The reality is that the pets would be just fine if just fed them regularly and give them a good scratch once or twice a day. We don’t really need to “win” their affections when they basically already love us when we open a can of food. Perhaps we have some dependency and validation issues that need further exploration?

      On the flip side, most pets are much more dependable and trustworthy than most people, so there’s that. And there’s something quite satisfying about a constant companion who is always there for you. (Granted, they are trapped in our domiciles and don’t have many other options, but still, they show up every day. Especially when we open cans, dancing about at our feet…. 😉

      Like

  3. My first thought when I saw that dress was that she appeared to be sinking in fabric quicksand..Cleo’s demands make me think of our Cricket. She doesn’t focus her tricks to personally annoy me, she annoys Molly the dog whose actions and whining annoys me. So says Rebecca Revels in case wordpress decides to make me anonymous again.

    Liked by 2 people

    • I’m still mystified by the annoying “Anonymous” thing. Say, perhaps you’re actually in the Witness Protection Program and your “handlers” are monitoring your social-media activity, stepping in to hide your identity, when necessary, for you own safety. Is your name really Rebecca? And what did you see that requires protection, “Rebecca”? You can tell me and I won’t share it with anyone. After all, we’re friends, even if I may not actually know your name… 😉

      Cleo is VERY pushy. She has been an only child for a while now (well, at least inside the house; we have lots of neighborhood strays that we tend to) and she’s apparently forgotten what it’s like to be on good behavior in order to increase her standing in what used to be a rambunctious mix of household pets. She now expects to just be given whatever she wants, Queen in Her Own Mind, and she does not play well when she is thwarted in her desires…

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  4. Coming up on the next episode of Love It or List It: Will Cleo be happy with the renovations made to her current space under Greta’s dress or will she opt for a larger, but less desirable location, with artificial turf allowing more room for croquet? Stay tuned!

    Liked by 1 person

    • And don’t forget to watch the Blooper Reel, wherein David forgets to be insufferably snarky, Hilary forgets to use her quizzical British accent, and both of them get confused about which house they’re supposed to be working on and they terrorize an innocent family that has never heard of HGTV…

      Liked by 1 person

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