HumpDay Quickie #7

Posted: February 19, 2014 in Hump-Day Quickies
Tags: , , ,


by: Jacki Donnellan

The sea of faded cardigans around the table murmured drily.

“And this one is the crème de la creme,” continued The Suit, with an almost medical professionalism. “The Dorchester. Solid oak, with brass handles and trim.”

He gestured to a photo with his palm.

“I went to the Dorchester once,” someone announced, happily. “For high tea.”

The Suit waited uncertainly for a quiet rippling of “Oo!” to subside, before continuing. “It’s lined with white silk, and-“

“Isn’t it terribly expensive?” another voice asked.

“Well, madam,” replied The Suit, dropping medical in favour of educational, “how does one define ‘expensive,’ when planning one’s grand finale? Quality comes appropriately priced. If you choose not just to invest but to invest wisely in “Departing with Decorum”, then you can-quite literally-rest safely in the knowledge that your loved ones will attend the kind of funeral where people say to themselves: “Yes. There goes Doris, looking as smart in death as she did in life.”

“But my name’s Marjorie,” came the reply. “And I meant tea, at the Dorchester.”

The Suit sighed. They weren’t making it easy for him, and I was glad. I didn’t like him being here, in our Home, on a day when the sun was shining and even the last wilting flower stalks in the beds outside were dancing merrily in the breeze.

A dramatic scream suddenly pierced the air, and I looked over just in time to see my good friend Daisy slide from her chair and lie in a folded heap under the table.

Everybody chuckled. The Suit gaped at them, horrified.

“It’s okay!” I called to him from my armchair. “She’ll be fine. Probably just a bit shocked at the price of your tombstones. Just give her a minute. And…well…perhaps you ought to go and get her a glass of water.”

The Suit recomposed himself, stood, and nose-dived into the carpet.

Laughter burst suddenly into bloom around the room, filling it with giddy sunbeams. Daisy climbed out from under the table, brushing her faded yellow cardigan and grinning mischievously.

The Suit had managed to sit up and was examining his granny-knotted shoelaces with incredulity.

We weren’t dead yet.

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