Wrong on Many Levels

Past Imperfect – #565

Greta, the wife, left: “Is this what it’s come to, with this massive table representing the distance in our marriage?”

Felix, the servant, fiddling with who knows what, center, whispering: “Girl, don’t poke the bear. You know he has unregulated testosterone issues.”

Anders, husband, possible bear, right: “Whatever do you mean, my little nectarine?”

Greta: “I mean that you haven’t plucked my fruit for many months, and I’ve grown weary of the proffering without an appreciative harvest.”

Felix: “Oh God. Somebody’s going to throw something at some point. Why can’t these two just sublimate their issues like all the other people who can actually afford Art Deco furniture?”

Anders: “I suppose I could say that I don’t particularly relish sloppy seconds, but that would be too easy. Just like you.”

Greta: “Really, now? Are you implying that I’m the one who strayed? That’s rich. Everyone in the county knows about your salacious pursuit of hundreds of people that are not me.”

Felix: “I don’t think my sphincter can be any tighter.”

Anders: “Oh. Well, it’s possible that you might have some documentary evidence that could maybe impugn me a bit, as I don’t really remember many of the people, places and things that I’ve done. Perhaps it’s best that I simply eat my Eggs Benedict and continue hiding my earnings in offshore accounts.”

Greta: “That sounds splendid. And perhaps I should convince my army of divorce lawyers that they shouldn’t desecrate you entirely.”

Felix: “Okay, perhaps I can relax now. I’ve polished this silver candlestick to the point that it can be seen from Venus.”

Anders: “Speaking of an army, and therefore military maneuvers, have you noticed that our butler is flexing his buttocks in a remarkably familiar manner.”

Greta: “Whatever do you mean?”

Felix: “Oh, this is not going well at all. Why couldn’t I have paid more attention in high school?”

Anders: “I mean that I’ve seen that two-moon junction before. And if memory serves, that vision occurred when I barged into your room one morning, when I merely wanted to inquire on your thoughts about tax evasion, and instead I was treated to a rather aggressive example of a hole in one.”

Greta: “Ah, I do seem to recall a shift in atmosphere before he teed off. In the interest of self-preservation, allow me to confirm that his 9-iron has nothing on yours.”

Felix: “Sweet Jesus, just take me now.”

Anders: “I’m fully aware that he can’t compare.  After all, I went to Harvard. Now, I’m assuming that we’ve both finished this round with the same score, and we can go back to blithely ignoring each other’s time in the sand traps. Could you pass the salt?”

Greta: “Of course. Felix, could you be a dear and convey the condiments? You know I don’t do manual labor. Except for you. And maybe the gardener. But that doesn’t really count. I had no idea his sprinkler system was so sensitive.”

 

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