Snow laughing matter.

23-01-2007 14-38-00_0015a

“You’ve been gone a long time – I’ve been worried.”

“That’s sweet of you, but there was no need; I’m well wrapped up.”

“Where’s the car?”

“Sorry. I had to abandon it. The road hasn’t been gritted yet and I got bogged.”

“How deep?”

“It was about twenty-five centimetres deep on the road, but there’s sheet ice underneath.”

“That’s why we went to the expense of putting winter tyres on. They’re supposed to be brilliant in the snow – and on ice.”

“No point in telling me that. I read the write-up same as you did, Tell them – they obviously didn’t get the memo.”

“Did you drive the way I told you to?”

“No, darling. I hoofed it in first gear. What do you think I am – stupid?”

“No, of course not, I just can’t understand why they didn’t give you any grip. Anyway, where is the car now?”

“Where I left it, obviously. Roger’s towing it back on the back of his tractor this afternoon. Apparently we’re fifteenth on his list.”

“So it wasn’t just you then?”

“Did you think it was? Do you think everyone else managed to sail through the snow except your wife? My God, you have a low opinion of me sometimes.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Do I?”

“You should do. How long have we been married?”

“Don’t you know?”

“Yes I do, That was a rhetorical question.”

“Okay, but what is a rhetorical question, when you come down to it?”

“Drop it! How far were you from the shop when you get stuck?”

“About half way there.”

“And?”

“And I knew how important it was to get your stuff, so I walked the two kilometres there and the four kilometres home again.”

“You walked six kilometres through deep snow? At least that explains why you took so long. So – did you get my stuff?”

“No. Sorry.”

“Why not?”

“The shop was shut – apparently none of the staff could get in.”

“What?”

“You heard.”

“Why couldn’t they—”

“Which part of impassable are you having trouble understanding?!”

This was written in response to Kreative Kue 295 published on this site.

 

Rayne.

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Rayne. Why did my parents have to give me that name? And, in the eternal game of post hoc ergo propter hoc, which is post and which propter

Why am I asking that? Look outside. What’s it doing? 

Exactly. It’s raining. It’s always raining. I can’t ever remember it not raining.

I know it wasn’t raining here yesterday or today, before I arrived. And before you ask: yes, I did bring the weather with me. Everywhere I go, I always bring the weather with me. That’s why I’m asking the question. Did they call me Rayne because the rain always follows me, or does the rain always follow me because I’m called Rayne?

It may very well be a philosophical question to you; you don’t have to live with it. Tell me: where do you like to go on holiday?

Okay, maybe you do prefer a different place each time, but what is the common element, the thread that ties them together? Altitude? Language? Architectu—

Of course, weather. Any particular kind of weather?

As I thought. Dry and sunny. Do you know where I go for my holidays?

Then I’ll tell you. I don’t. I never go anywhere on holiday.

Why not? Because I know it will rain. It always rains.

Isn’t it obvious? It rains because I’m there. Tell you what. Would you like me to come on holiday with you on year?

Why not?

So you do believe me, then? 

What?

Okay, let’s hear your idea.

Mm hmm.

Uh huh.

You know what? You might just have something there.

I’ve heard that, too. Have you noticed that they pray earnestly for rain, but how many of them believe in the power of their prayers to the extent that they take a brolly with them?

Precisely. So now—

Exactly. And I’ll bet they’d pay me to visit them for a few days, wouldn’t they?

This was written in response to Kreative Kue 294 published on this site.

 

Straight-talking pup.

Tinkerbell

You think you’re clever, don’t you? You think that having opposable thumbs and a complex language makes you better than me, don’t you?

Well, let me tell you something, Mister. I am not just a dog; not some nondescript, common-or-garden, everyday canine. Oh, no. Not this one. This one is a chihuahua. Were I physically, emotionally and financially capable of it, I’d be prepared to lay good good money that you can’t even spell that.

We chihuahuas have a long, distinguished history. We have been companions to royalty and people with enormous levels of net worth since there have been people like that. Others have been jealous of people just for having us.

We chihuahuas still contain elements from the genome of the earliest domestic dogs to come to North America nearly fifteen thousand years ago (okay, only about four percent, but you get my drift). That is not to be trifled with and neither are we.

We are chihuahuas and chihuahuas rock.

My name is Tinkerbell; and let me tell you one thing before you accuse anyone of plagiarism. I was given this name before the more famous one was as much as a fertilised ovum in its mother’s womb. And I am a male dog!

It takes a powerful male to carry off an obviously female moniker. You want examples? What about  Marion Morrison? You know him better, perhaps, as John Wayne. And the wrestler Big Daddy; real name Shirley Crabtree. Would you regard either of them as less than other males? Less than manly? No, you wouldn’t. There is a long and proud history that is shared by males given female names.

So, you can see that I am special. It wouldn’t be too much of an exaggeration for me to call myself unique. Okay, it is an exaggeration in that it isn’t exactly true – but it’s not too much of one. Are we agreed on that? Good. Now let me tell you something else, Mister.

I will not be put into a pocket or bag and be carried around like a toy. I will not be dressed in silly garments or decorated with bows and tassels. I will not be dyed in different colours to match anyone’s outfit. I am not a fashion accessory. I am a living creature with a long and proud, almost regal history.

I am a chihuahua and chihuahuas rule, big time!

And another thing, and I don’t care how much it hurts; it has to be said.

I will not eat that cheap supermarket dog food you’ve just put down for me.

This was written in response to Kreative Kue 293 published on this site.