I May Be Some Time

There is a grey fog behind my eyes. I fear that winter has infiltrated. Send for help.

When I venture outside to deal with washing, I have taken to announcing to DK, "I am just going outside. I may be some time." She can't place the quote, of course, but it marks the moment with sufficient gravity for my own pathetic enjoyment.

I imagine the following ridiculously nonsensical scene taking place in the home of beloved but neglected tinsenfriends, not seen since the paralysing cold descended in earnest and we began hibernation. We are supposed to visit with them next week, so that's terribly exciting for all involved... Okay, just me... Still... Should be fun... For me...

"Children! Children! Dear Husband-In-Common-Law! Gather around the fire. We have had a letter from our dear friends the tinsenpups"

"Did I hear you say a letter, My Darling Turtle-Dove? Can it truly be? How very quaint!"

"Indeed, My Sweet. It takes me back to simpler times..."

"Ah yes... the days before those accursed computer boxes insinuated themselves into every aspect of our God-forsaken lives."

"There, there, My Dear. You mustn't upset your delicate constitution."

"Oh Mummy, do please open the pretty letter! What does it say?"

"Ah yes, let me see...They send their warmest regards...They are both in tolerable health, though they have had no meat this past year. The child grows ruddy and strong in spite of all and displays the temperament of a saint - one of the passionate, more boisterous ones, ultimately burned at the stake.

"Oh dear, it seems our friends have fallen upon hard times."

"How very disappointing. Frankly, I thought them a better class of people!"

"Hush, My Love. We must not judge - at least not in front of the children."

"Of course, of course. Do go on, My Little Petal."

"It says that they are bearing up well, although the family estate crumbles about their ears from lack of care and their motorised carriage lies, once more, abandoned in a field.

"They ask us to send a blanket, even if a little threadbare, for the winter is shaping up to be bitter cold; a few candle stubs and perhaps a small bag of coal to see them through the harshest nights of the season.

"They have taken to wet nursing rodents in hopes that the grateful creatures will one day provide them with fur to knit the poor child a warm jersey. They have abandoned the constant rounds of balls and salon soirees that once constituted their evenings' amusement and now spend their time huddled in the cold glow of the television box watching documentaries about affluent American life to keep their hopes of better times alive.

"They thank us for the delightful e-mail card we sent last Christmas. They found the tableau with the elf in the blender particularly droll. They were also most grateful for the chocolate rabbit that arrived this past Easter, although sadly, misfortune has preyed heavily upon their beloved matriarch's mind and she has adopted it as a pet in the hopes that if she feeds it just one more precious carrot, it may perk up and regain its health and vigour. She is unconcerned that its 'fur' has taken on a violently green hue, conceding only that it is naughtily indulging itself in a surfeit of fresh grass.

"Yours in squalor and turpitude, blah-dy, blah-dy, blah, the tinsenpups."

"Ah, My Beloved Fox-Glove, let us sit together as a family and praise the gods of various and diverse pantheons for all that we have."

"Oh yes please! Let's do!"

"Can we Mummy?"

"Yes, My Dears, of course, though only for a moment, as a delightful repast of baked beans in a delicate tomato sauce, with lightly toasted slices of bread, awaits us."

"Oh goodie!"

"My goodness, what is that foul aroma?"

"Oh dear, has one of you cheeky little monkeys been shooting bunnies?"

"Oh Mummy!"

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha...ahem..."