Larry: “What fresh hell is this?”
Jennie: “It appears that an army of photographers is aware of the fact that we were having a meeting with a marriage counselor. I wonder how that might have happened, He Who Can’t Keep His Mouth Shut.”
Larry: “I assure you I had nothing to do with this development. I’m an opera singer, a vocation that does not necessarily reek of testosterone. I certainly don’t need word getting out that I can no longer satisfy a woman.”
Jennie: “You seem to be implying that you ever satisfied me in the first place.”
Larry: “That’s a bit harsh, even for you. I seem to recall a time when we were quite passionate in our lovemaking.”
Jennie: “I think you’re confusing passion with bemusement. I will admit that the first time you sang an aria near my hoo-hoo I was rather entranced, not having experienced such before. But the novelty soon wore off. After a while, a woman no longer cares if you can hit a High C and they just want you to hit the Big O.”
Larry: “Well, you could have said something.”
Jennie: “I tried, Larry. But operas are incredibly long and I was exhausted by the time we got to intermission. And it didn’t help that you had a full orchestra playing beside the bed. No one could hear my screams. There was simply far too much going on.”
Larry: “Like that outfit you’re wearing? How are you able to walk with all those accessories?”
Jennie: “Don’t change the subject. The focus here is on your own accessory, assuming that anyone can ever find it again.”
Larry: “Why so much bitterness? At what point did we become enemies? I never intended for that to happen.”
Jennie, slowing her determined march toward their separate cars: “And I didn’t either. Perhaps we spent too much time together.”
Larry: “And perhaps we didn’t spend enough. Is there any way we can salvage this?”
Jennie, sighing: “No, I think we’ve moved beyond that. Too many stabs, too many times. I don’t think we were meant to be lovers. But maybe…”
Larry: “Yes?”
Jennie: “Maybe we can be friends. Maybe that’s all we should have been.”
Larry: “Indeed. So, truce?”
Jennie: “For now. Let’s go have coffee and see what we can make of the ashes.”
Previously published, slight changes made.
I just have so share this comment exchange from the original post:
CJ Hartwell: “This took a turn I wasn’t prepared for. Now I’m feeling strangely blue for Jennie with the dead weasels round her neck, when before I only felt bad for the weasels. Oh Brian, please tell me Jennie found happiness, not to mention gratification, at last?”
Brian: “I so hope you get this: Jennie did eventually find happiness, and you can learn more by calling 867-5309…”
Categories: Past Imperfect
Bonnywood Manor 
The confusion between passion and bemusement…. cute. 🙂
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It’s a dichotomy that comes into play more often than we realize… 😉
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:))) nothing to do with our ego at all right?
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For a good time, call…… ??
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“I tried to call you before but I lost my nerve…”
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Since there are hundreds of area codes, not to mention other countries, there a hundreds of possibilities.
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True enough. Jennie’s exact number may forever be a mystery, and I’m fine that… 😉
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Now I know who has my grandmother’s fur stole.
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It’s my understanding that Jennie was able to keep the contraband stole after the eventual divorce proceedings. If you are interested in a stealth operation to retrieve said garment, I can hook you up with some people… 😉
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Why is that Christmas elf tucked under Jen’s arm having to suffer both being in her clutches and in the slipstream of her cheap and nasty Chesterfields? It’s inhuman, and we’re not even mentioning the grisly neck warmers. That’s right in the SPCAs wheelhouse. And c’mon Larry, thats no Nikon in your mitts, it’s a man bag and you know it. Own it. (Yeah, a credulous stretch, but what the hell!)
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There are SO many things wrong with this photo, enough that I could have easily turned this into a monolithic saga that would run for several seasons. (The Man Bag alone is worthy of at least a five-part serial concerning metrosexuals who cluelessly damage everyone around them with their posing and subterfuge.)
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this was fun 🙂
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Thank you! I certainly had fun banging around with this one… 😉
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Ahhhh another morning smile.
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And another smile from me that I managed to arrange words in a pleasing way… 😉
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Please forgive my ignorance, but who are Larry and Jennie? He looks like he’s stuffed to the gills with MDMA and she looks delighted at her latest kill.
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Oh, don’t worry about any possible ignorance. I had no idea who these people where when I found the photo, years ago. I just knew I could get a story out of it, so I tucked it into my “ideas” folder. I only found out who they were once I started working on this little story and did a Google photo search. Lawrence Tibbett really was an opera singer, famous in the early 20th Century, and Jennie was his wife. I launched from that point, and so it goes…
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Hah,! It does have that ‘Me Tarzan, you got game’ vibe. Its’ all in the twisted perspective.
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Hahaha. 🙂
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I’m going to be humming 867-5309, and that’s not a bad way to spend a Tuesday evening.
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Agreed. If we can’t have satisfying flashbacks to the songs from our salad days, then something is not right with the world… 😉
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As Queen Victoria said many times to Prince Albert with a smile, “We are not bemused.”
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And then they would go off and doing something incredibly ill-informed and everyone would let them get away with it because, royalty… 😉
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