Swirling into the church through the double doors the crowd dispersed. Puff. Treacle n Twoply at their trumpeted posts.
6 feet.
6 feet! What’s that. 1.50 meters?
No.
2 meters?
Spot on Dilly - 1.82 meters rounded up to one significant figure.
Oh.
Have you never heard of feet and inches? (continued the garrulous ravings and admonitions of Mr Winson Twoply)
So there it is.
She’s succumbed to social butterfly purity fallacy and has formally incrassated herself to the fettered law of Mr Twoply.
As they kneel at the alter, soloist Aunt Tabitha drops her eyes imperceptibly (poignancy of unspoken grief) singing “I don’t have to try” in sotto mezzo.
Ah Tabitha. Tabitha.
She always knows what’s going on. Tricky bit is she says nothing. Her rule of thumb? When in doubt let the process have clout.
She wondered idly how long. Two babies and 5 years? One and 7? Who knows. Doesn’t matter. The aunt had walked out of hell into a life. The trail had been blazed.
Treek had been close to Tabitha at times. Tabitha knew them to be too much alike for her to entertain cretins further than default use by dates. Her lesson was to self-identify them through hard experience, especially the silky smooth lovers of law.
Mrs Treacle Twoply !!
Fast forward 3 or 4 years and she’ll be grieving she never took that ticket to counter-culture freedom, barmaid @ Tilly’s
Oh well thought the singer, better the hard way than no way (Treek and Winsy exchange rings)
Hmm. Think. Perhaps a long, very long time ago in …it evades me. I’ll be passive about my hmm voice. Reign by hush-hush.
