Apr 15, 2006

That Friday Thing I Do

Which was displaced by other, far more important life events which I've mentioned before, which are now behind me, or as far behind me as those sorts of things ever get.

So. Without further foolishenss:

That Friday Thing, Only A Day Later Than Usual.


Wilfred rested back against the antique Louis the Fourteenth sewing chair and let his hand holding the Bombay Gin and tonic in it's leaded crystal highball glass drift back towards his mouth as he wondered to himself, as he often did, if this sort of life was really what it was cracked up to be, if there were any sort of real, visceral rewards he was reaping from being the reckless, shallow cad of a man who just so happened to be lucky enough to be born the seventh son of an incredibly wealthy oil tycoon who was himself well into his sixth wife, each younger than the last, but really, what sort of life was it for a man and what would it do to his spirit, his sense of equality and fraternity and brotherhood with all other men of every nation and race and creed; these thoughts sped through his head as they often did whenever he was taking his afternoon entertainent, and as usual, they were as passing clouds in a clear sky, which is to say that they did nothing to stop him: his perfect lips opened, his manicured moustache curled with each syllable as he called out to his favourite bartender/butler/gamesmaster "Play something from Beethoven, Mannfred, and throw another peasant on the fire."


Happy Ether, everyone.

2 comments:

Nancy Dancehall said...

You throw peasants on the fire on Fridays? Can I play? ;-)

Irrelephant said...

Of course you can! I've found that Kroger's usually has pretty good prices on peasants on Mondays, all you have to do is keep them wrapped in the celophane that they come in from the fields and keep them in your crisper drawer in the 'fridge. They keep for DAYS like that. *S*