Peace Nicked
“Have you been following events in The Ukraine?”
“John, we no longer call it that.”
“No longer call what what?”
“We no longer call it The Ukraine.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We just say Ukraine now; they’ve dropped the The,” Laverne gave me the lowdown.
“Who did?”
“The Ukrainians.”
“Don’t you mean Ukrainians?”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you said The Ukrainians.”
“Oh, for God’s sake…”
“Why is it I’m only hearing about this now?”
“Try spending less time on TikTok.”
“I enjoy watching eco-tourists run for their lives.”
“Fair enough,” Laverne shrugged.
“So, when did they ditch the The?”
“I believe it was around the same time Kentucky Fried Chicken rebranded as KFC.”
“Do you think their KFCs serve Chicken Kiev?”
“We don’t say that either.”
“What? Chicken?”
“No, Kiev.”
“You’re kidding.”
“We now pronounce it Kyiv, like Steve.”
“Steve Rogers?”
“Please tell me you didn’t just say that.”
“Captain America could end this whole thing in one day.”
“Sweetie, I want you to stop talking,” Laverne took my hand. “In the past we had a habit of anglicising names which proved tricky to pronounce and no one really questioned it. Now there’s a bit of a reset happening, that’s all.”
“My stress levels go through the roof every time I have to say anemone.”
“When did you last need to say anemone?”
“Forty minutes ago.”
“I’m talking about foreign names.”
“Brunhilde.”
“Place names.”
“Melbourne.”
“More foreign than that.”
“Machu Picchu.”
“It’s Bombay becoming Mumbai and Calcutta becoming Kolkata, that sort of thing,” Laverne clarified.
“We weren’t that far off on those two,” I felt I ought to give credit where credit was due.
“My issue isn’t with the consonants so much, as the bloody diphthongs.”
“Your Vietnamese neighbours? What have they done now?”
“Stop it,” Laverne giggled. “Hey, did you know that Kanye’s changed his name as well? Apparently he now goes by Ye. My son told me.”
“I fail to see the significance.”
“Well, according to Ye himself, ye is the most common word in The Bible.”
“Blessed be the fruit.”
“Oh, there’s more… Ye then enlightened us further by explaining that ye can sometimes mean thee.”
“Which Ukrainians have dropped like a hot potato,” I reminded my friend.
“They dropped a The, not a thee.”
“Be that as it may, I think Ye will find that the most common word in The Bible is, in fact, the.”
“So we’ve circled back on ourselves,” Laverne groaned. “How do we end this?
“Here’s a crazy idea: let’s add a The.”
The End
Model Behaviour
“I’m being sued by the Catholic Church again,” Laverne announced in the midst of reorganising her purse.
“I have no words for that.”
“How unlike you,” she mused.
“Hold on, I thought you were working on a piece about the East African Lion,” I suddenly remembered.
“Turns out all they do is sleep. My son can do that.”
“Have you ever been to Africa? I haven’t.”
“Yeah, went with my sister for her fortieth. A safari in Malawi.”
“So is that where …“
“… my people come from?” Laverne zipped her purse and placed it on the chair next to her. “Couldn’t tell you; the furthest back I’ve been able to trace our roots is to The Shirelles.”
“Ha, ha. Very funny. I was actually going to ask if that’s where your sister went with the Peace Corps.”
“Oops, sorry,” she giggled. “No, that was Mozambique.”
“I’d like to ask you another question though: when you were there, did you feel any connection to it?”
“Funny you should ask that,” she became more pensive. “I expected to feel ‘African’ from the moment I arrived, but the whole time we were there I felt like just another tourist. People are people wherever you go, so we had that in common. Culturally, however, I struggled to make a connection and that bothered me. I think maybe we’ve been gone too long.”
“I felt the same when I met my Scottish relatives for the first time,” I concurred. “We shared the same name, same sense of humour and some even looked like me but culturally we were raised in two very different worlds.”
“Not even close!” Laverne screamed with laughter. “Honestly, are you kidding me with that? Your parents emigrated using Air Miles!”
“But their journey to The New World was horrific. First, they ran out of headphones and then they gave my mum’s gluten-free meal to someone else,” I explained. “Anyway, cut me some slack – you’re my only ethnic friend.”
“Hey, I’m your only friend. I’ve got more in common with those lions than I do with you.”
“How so?”
“They don’t like to cook either.”
“And we have our connection!”
“Okay, but back to this business with the Church,” Laverne lowered her voice. “It’s over a certain someone I told you about at Christmas.”
“Is this the same someone with the thing?”
“Yup.”
“And are you telling me they’ve now found the thing?”
“Oh yeah, they found it alright,” she confirmed.
“Was it on him?”
“No, up him.”
“Whoa!” I leaned back in my chair. “And the monkey?”
“Still missing,” she arched an eyebrow.
I love secrets and Laverne knows plenty. A freelance journalist, she moved to the UK from Seattle over thirty years ago after meeting and marrying Elliot, a sound engineer at the BBC. The three of us first met at The Pu Pu Pot, our local Chinese restaurant, after she’d overheard my Canadian accent.
“I need some human conversation. I need someone who doesn’t talk about Bobby Charlton in his sleep!” she blubbered into her chop suey.
“Who’s Robby Carlson?” I asked.
“Exactly!” she cried. “And do you know where I can score some Fruit Loops because the last people to eat porridge were the Vikings.”
That was twenty years ago.
Tonight we were out for our weekly meal at The Pu Pu Pot but without Elliot, who begged off to attend a Bolton Wanderers match.
“What’s the viral load of the Szechuan Chicken today?” Laverne asked.
“Slightly elevated I’m afraid, so my grandfather would be happy to pee on it for you. We Chinese believe that urine possesses magical properties,” the waitress took her on. “Or if you’d prefer, you can bring in a pet and we’ll cook that for you,” she smiled, sweetly.
“We’re going to need a few more minutes,” Laverne smiled right back at her.
Just then, the kitchen doors swung open to reveal a tiny, sinewy man lifting the lid off a huge cauldron. As he did so, he stepped back to avoid the rush of steam.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“We’ll be cooking shrimp in it once we take the shirts out,” our waitress explained. “Would you excuse me for just one moment? I need to inform on my neighbours.”
“She’s good,” Laverne nodded her approval, as she watched the diminutive figure disappear behind the bar. “Is she still in med school?”
“Fourth year.”
“She’ll have them in stitches.”
At one point during the evening Laverne made a visit to the Ladies’ Room. While she was gone, a young woman breezed into the restaurant and joined a waiting friend at a table nearby. Tall, elegant and stylishly attired, she quickly attracted the attention of her fellow diners.
“I’m back,” Laverne announced, resuming her seat. “They have the nicest hand lotion here.”
“Uh huh,” I replied, looking past her at the young woman.
“What’s up with you?” she shot me a quizzical look.
“It’s what’s behind you.”
“What’s behind me?”
“A girl walked in while you were gone and she’s got to be a model. She’s absolutely stunning. Definitely a model.”
“On a scale of 1 to 10?” Laverne asked.
“Ten.”
“Hair?”
“Lustrous.”
“Make-up?”
“None.”
“Height?”
“NBA.”
“She’s got to have a flaw, everyone has a flaw.”
“If she does, I can’t see it.”
“Maybe it’s hidden,” she chewed on her bottom lip. “Slug feet?”
“Killer farts?”
“Fifty bucks says she uses disconnect as a noun.”
“Another fifty says she plans to name her first daughter Chandelier.”
“Hmm… not even a split end?” Laverne wasn’t having it.
“Turn around and see for yourself, if you don’t believe me.”
“Have I taught you nothing?” she reached for her purse. “Watch and learn, my friend… okay, which shoulder?”
“Left.”
She took out her compact and opened it, angling the mirror until she caught sight of her quarry over her left shoulder. At that very moment, the young woman put on her reading glasses to read the menu. Closing the compact with a snap, Laverne chuckled to herself, leaned across the table and whispered, “Four-Eyes.”
Aisle Stand By You
“I feel like a Stepford Wife.”
“That explains the outfit then.”
“No, I’m serious. I no longer feel comfortable buying just anything, only what’s needed,” Laverne complained, as she headed down the cookie aisle. “I suppose we’re being reprogrammed to become more altruistic.”
“Toilet paper’s back there,” I gestured behind her.
“We’ve got over a hundred rolls in the garage, don’t worry.”
“You’ve got a heart as big as your feet. Did you know that?”
“Call me in six months when you’re wiping your ass with a Shih Tzu,” she opened a pack of Oreos and placed it in her trolley. “And don’t look at me like that. Do you think Downing Street is cutting the Daily Telegraph into little squares and hanging them on a nail? Is it, heck.”
I began constructing a mental picture, then stopped just in time.
“The point is, we’re not in this together. I mean, we are but they’re not. It’s all a façade,” she bit into an Oreo, frowning. “Anyway I’m seriously thinking of moving to North Korea when this whole thing blows over. At least there you know where you stand.”
“Up against a wall wearing a blindfold?”
“You Un Funny.”
“What about their state-approved hairstyle, The Hair Helmet?”
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that… don’t let me leave today without buying a hat.”
“And don’t let me forget laundry detergent. It’s top of my list.”
“We’ve got at least six months of that as well,” she put a finger to her lips.
“You know these eco-friendly washing machines?” I segued slightly. “Does yours use enough water because my clothes don’t even look wet when they’re being washed. They’re damp, at best.”
“I agree, they don’t use nearly enough water. I top mine up.”
“Me too. After all, we don’t shower using an atomiser.”
“That’s because we’re not from LA. Hey, did you read that Gwyneth Paltrow steam-cleans her noo-noo?”
“Her website’s called goop so I’m thinking hygiene may be an issue,” I winced. “Sounds like a waste of water though. She needs to think about the whales.”
“To hell with the whales,” Laverne scoffed. “How much more water do they need? Maybe if they’d lose a few pounds there’d be less displacement.”
“Uhh…”
“It’s true; it’s the fat ones who are causing sea levels to rise. Whales are so selfish. I hate them,” she fished another Oreo out of the bag.
“You can’t argue with science. And while we’re on the subject… what do you think of Greta Thunberg?”
“Bride of Chuckie?”
“She certainly hates us, that’s for sure. Anyone over 40 is in that little witch’s crosshairs.”
“If she could burn us, she would,” Laverne shuddered, “along with every member of ABBA if it helped her cause. Want an Oreo?”
“Will it make me as smart as you?”
“You’re asking the wrong person.”
“How so?”
“Because yesterday after reading The Guardian, for a moment I thought it had actually expanded my mind.”
“Why on earth would you think that?” I was intrigued.
“I was looking into one of those magnifying mirrors you do your eyebrows with.”
“Were you in Tesco yesterday?”
“We’re low on toilet paper.”
Meandering through the aisles we found it increasingly difficult to maintain social distancing and not be overheard. While this rarely presented a problem, on this occasion it did, resulting in some blowback.
“How’s little Edward doing?” Laverne enquired after my youngest nephew.
“He’s enjoying being off school, if that’s what you mean, but it’s all about the Xbox with him. He gets up at 6am to do his schoolwork just so he can go on it right after. Don’t ask me when he last kicked a ball around.”
“A man with a plan,” she laughed. “When he visited us last weekend he was such a delight. I really think I got through to him.”
“He thinks you’re a dork.”
“What?”
“Don’t get me wrong; he liked you. He just thought you were a bit of a dork. Don’t take it personally.”
“But he’s autistic!” Laverne protested.
“So what? Autistic people are entitled to their opinions,” I reminded her.
“Yeah, but not about normal people.”
“Don’t ever go into teaching.”
“Don’t worry.”
It was then a young woman in her twenties made her presence known. She was sporting a blue surgical mask which perfectly matched the colour of her hair, half of which had been shaved off to reveal a tattooed verse in Arabic. Both earlobes could have been budgie swings and her t-shirt declared This Is What A Feminist Looks Like.
“Excuse me, but I couldn’t help overhearing what you just said,” she stated, earnestly.
“Oh, here we go,” I muttered.
“Excuse me,” she persisted. “EXCUSE ME!”
“Listen, Sky or Goop or whatever your name is, can I just say that the cookie aisle is our safe space so we’d like you to respect boundaries,” I lobbed one over the net.
“Until I decide to give you rights, you have none,” I was duly informed, “and I don’t much appreciate what you said about people with autism,” she turned to Laverne. “It’s a very serious disease, sometimes fatal. I know because my friend has it.”
“Let’s try this again,” Laverne began. “First of all, it isn’t a disease, it’s a neurological disorder although even that’s disputed. Secondly, it’s none of your business what we talk about.”
“Well, you made it my business when your words committed an act of violence against my friend,” her voice was quickly rising.
“I don’t believe that for one moment,” Laverne replied, coolly.
“I’ve taken courses in it, so I think I know what I’m talking about more than you do.”
“No, you misunderstand me,” Laverne stated calmly. “What I meant was: I don’t believe you have any friends.”
Laverne put her hand behind her back and counted down from three.
“Could somebody get the manager? There’s a hate crime here!” the woman began yelling. “Security! Somebody help me! Help!”
“So you’re what a feminist looks like,” Laverne read her shirt and sized her up. “I feel so over-dressed.”
After staff anxiously listened to both parties’ version of events, the young woman was asked to leave the store.
“She also came within 2m of me during Covid,” she complained. “That’s attempted murder!”
“You’re clutching at straws with that one,” Laverne warned her. “Now, why don’t you go find a police car to urinate on because you don’t want to see Mommy angry.”
“No, you knew more than anybody what you were doing because you’re a nurse!” she accused Laverne. “They let her jump the queue outside because she’s a nurse! Call the police! She’s a killer nurse!”
That’s when we started laughing.
“Don’t touch me or I’ll sue! I’m streaming this! And I expect a taxi home!” she continued her rant all the way to the exit.
“From obnoxious busybody to demented hysteric in less than 30 seconds,” Laverne stopped laughing. “Makes you wonder what else is out there.”
“Can you imagine ten thousand of her?”
“Gives the rest of us a bad name, that’s the problem,” she was now watching her remonstrate with shoppers in the queue like a street corner evangelist.
“Laverne, ten o’clock. Here comes Round Two,” I gave a heads-up.
Making his way towards us was a tall, young man kitted out in black leather boots, matching leather trousers, a Black Sabbath World Tour t-shirt and a full-length, black leather coat.
“Good God, we’re in the Matrix!” Laverne whispered, as he made a beeline straight for her. “If he’s packing heat I want you to take him out.”
“Cagney, I thought you’d brought your gun,” I gave her a worried look.
“I think you dropped this,” the man now stood before her, holding out a ten pound note.
We both smelled a set-up.
“I don’t think so,” she replied.
“It was before, over by the cereal when you were talking about how much money they’d have to pay you to be in a porno.”
“And that’s what you think it would take? TEN POUNDS?” she disarmed him in an instant.
Completely taken aback by the accusation, he struggled to find words.
“N-n-no,” he stammered. “You dropped this. It’s yours. I just picked it up.”
“Relax, I’m joking,” Laverne smiled. “Thank you for your honesty. I didn’t know what to expect when you first walked up. I’m afraid I don’t meet many gentlemen these days.”
“That’s the porn industry for you,” I shrugged. “Hi, I’m her agent, Johnny Salami.”
“Hi,” he shifted nervously.
“That was so nice of you to return the money but I want you keep it. After what we’ve all just witnessed you’ve more than earned it,” Laverne insisted. “Please allow your good deed to be rewarded by another.”
“Um…” he was still struggling. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“I’ll tell you what,” she was ready to deal, “you tell me what you think I should be paid to appear in a porno and if I like what I hear, you can keep the tenner.”
“Would you be playing a nurse?”
“Whoa!” I hollered. “How long have you been following us?”
“That girl was pretty loud,” he gestured to the lunatic now staging a one-woman protest in the car park.
“Laverne!” she extended her hand, but then withdrew it just as quickly. “Sorry… I keep forgetting about that 2m rule.”
“Dale,” he extended his hand. “You really had me going there.”
“Dale?” I checked I’d heard correctly. “Dale? You walk around dressed like that and you’re called Dale?”
“Afraid so,” he shrugged.
For the next few minutes the three of us chatted and snacked on Oreos in the cookie aisle. Dale was polite and well spoken, a local lad who still lived at home but hoped to buy his own place soon. The more we got to know him, the more uneasy I felt about prejudging him.
“He’s quite good looking,” Laverne admitted. “Lovely blue eyes and that thick, black hair. Kind of Irishy. Plus, I like ‘em tall.”
“I read him completely wrong,” I reflected. “I know it was in the heat of battle but still, I should have known better.”
“Hey, you read her right which was more important. That’s a survival skill we’re needing more and more these days.”
After making our purchases the three of us said our goodbyes in the car park.
“Dale, it was nice meeting you. All the best, buddy,” I gave him a thumbs-up.
“You too, Mr Salami,” he delivered with a straight face.
“Dale, I’m sure we’ll meet again,” Laverne told him. “Don’t know where, don’t know when but this is a small town. You run into people eventually.”
“In your case it’s usually because of your driving,” I reminded her. “She has her own cubicle in A&E.”
“We’ll definitely be seeing each other then,” Dale brightened, pulling out his wallet.
“Why? You’re not a personal injury lawyer, are you?” Laverne asked.
“Not exactly,” Dale pulled out his work I.D. “I’m a nurse.”
Stalk Options
“My stalker’s released more nude photos of me.”
“How’s your hair in them?”
“Fabulous. Just had it done.”
“Let’s have a look.”
Laverne slid her phone across the table.
“You owe him one,” I agreed, swiping through a considerable collection of images. “Maybe you should get him something.”
“Like what?”
“Halloween’s coming up.”
“What makes you think he’s into Halloween?”
“Call it a hunch.”
“But I wouldn’t know what to get him.”
“Does he have someone special in his life?”
“Not since he killed all the members of his church group, no.”
“Any hobbies?”
“Skulking among the shadows.”
“I mean, besides that.”
“Photography, I suppose.”
“Then why not get him some lens wipes?”
“I’m sure we can do better than lens wipes,” Laverne frowned.
“Alright, let’s keep going then… would it be fair to describe him as outdoorsy?“
“Yes! And now that I think of it, he could do with a decent winter coat,” she suddenly brightened.
“My neighbours are in a cult if you’re looking for something with a hood.”
“I’ll get back to you on that.”
“Did I mention it’s detachable?”
“It’s just… I don’t want to cause offence.”
“To someone who’s photographing you through your fence,” I felt obliged to remind her.
“I see where you’re coming from.”
“Didn’t he once write that on a CookieGram?”
“Right before I reversed over him in the driveway.”
“Putting all that to one side, what were you doing running naked through the forest at 3am?”
“The dog let the cat out again,” Laverne chuckled. “They’re worse than kids, those two. I should have gotten a fish tank instead. Anyway, enough about me; what’s new with you?”
“I’ve decided I want to give back to society.”
“Oh, God…”
“Now, I know what you’re thinking but this time I’m serious. I’m going to make these next twelve months my My Year of Philanthropy.”
“Well, you’re on your own then because no one’s getting any of my money,” Laverne sniffed.
“I don’t need money; what I need is a project.”
“Why not just join a gym like everyone else?”
“Because until just now I wasn’t aware that I needed to.”
“I’m just thinking back to the incident in the park.”
“That dog should have been leashed.”
“John, you wrestled it for a Tootsie Roll.”
“Which I’d bought.”
“Which you’d dropped.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, there’s a recession on,” I pointed out, dignity still intact.
“Okay. Forget I even mentioned it.”
“Easier said than done.”
“It doesn’t even matter because you’re nice on the inside and that’s what counts. When I was growing up there was a fat family on our street and they were really nice too.”
“Name them. All of them.”
“The dog was called Cupcake, I remember that much.”
“Keep going.”
“My point is, they were just like everyone else.”
“Just not worth knowing,” I addressed the elephant in the room.
“You have the rear molars of a hyena. I’ve watched you crush femurs like they were toothpicks.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“No, it isn’t. I’ve seen cleaner kills on Animal Planet.”
“Speaking of which, did you catch it on Monday? It was about these sharks that sleep. I think they were in Mexico. I have never, ever heard of sharks sleeping before.”
“That’s because they don’t,” I was informed.
“Sharks don’t sleep?”
“Nope.”
“Then what were these ones doing?”
“During ratings week they whack a few in the head to make them appear cute and cuddly.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m afraid not,” Laverne shook her head in dismay.
“But that’s barbaric.”
“So is seeing a camera-woman being bitten in half during a live feed. The only thing those sharks were sleeping off was a Grade 3 concussion.”
“Is that what happens on Love Island?”
“Totally different.”
“How so?”
“They’re all brain-damaged to begin with.”
“How do you know so much about concussed sharks?” I was curious.
“I was going to be a marine biologist but back then they didn’t allow women in the Marines.”
“Right…”
Local Weirdough
“I’ve gone into hiding.”
“We’re in a Pizza Hut.”
“That’s what they want you to think,” Laverne lowered her voice. “Look around… what do you see?”
“Happy fat people.”
“All of them?”
“All the ones eating pizza,” I was able to confirm.
“What about him on his own over at the salad bar? What’s his story?”
“That’s a woman.”
“Okay, whatever, but ask yourself this: what type of person comes to Pizza Hut to load up on celery?”
“Maybe she’s the nurse.”
“Restaurants don’t have nurses.”
“This one should.”
“John, what am I always telling you?”
“It’s only a phase?”
“That was your mother.”
“Never make eye contact while eating a banana?”
“That was your cellmate.”
“If someone’s crying don’t ask them if it’s because of their haircut?”
“There are two types of people in this world: those who like pizza and -”
“- nurses?”
“Communists.”
“You’re why aliens don’t talk to us.”
“The Macarena is why aliens don’t talk to us,” Laverne sniffed. “Anyway, I need to talk to you about something else.”
“Shoot.”
“How can I get myself into The Bible?”
“Oh my God…”
“Is that what I should do? Should I pray?”
“That wasn’t praying.”
“Then you, my friend, have just blasphemed,” Laverne waved a menacing finger in my direction.
“Since when have you been religious?”
“Pam’s published an eBook.”
“And…”
“It’s a collection of poems which are just dreadful.”
“So…”
“I think one’s about me.”
“Because…”
“It tells the story of a beautiful Mesopotamian goddess.”
“You’re from Wisconsin.”
“Maybe it wasn’t always called that.”
“So, you’re thinking that if you’re a goddess you should be in the same book as God.”
“I should at least be on the sleeve,” Laverne reasoned.
“Right, here comes the waitress so would you please come out from under the table?”
“Are you ready to order?” the young woman asked.
“Have all of these animals on the menu been freshly killed?” Laverne enquired, emerging to take her seat.
“Please excuse my friend, she’s Mesopotamian,” I interjected.
“Uh huh…” our waitress needed more.
“She was just looking for somewhere to bury any leftovers.”
“You’re not really allowed to do that,” she advised us.
“Then I’ll just have the buffet special,” Laverne set down her menu.
“Anything to drink?”
“I’ve just topped up my gourd so that won’t be necessary, thank you.”
“I’ll have the Buffet Special and a Coke,” I jumped in again.
The waitress stared at her pad, unsure of what to write.
“Two Buffets Specials and one Coke.”
“Right,” she sighed with relief. “You confused me there for a minute.”
“I apologise,” Laverne continued, “it’s just that all of this takes me back.”
“All of what?” the waitress asked.
“These ancient murals. That one, for example, is it Babylonian?”
“That’s Cher at The Oscars.”
“So it’s not a mummy then?”
“I can check, if you’d like.”
“Would you?”
“I’ll be right back with your drink so please help yourself to the buffet,” the girl managed to get out, before backing into the table behind her on her way to the kitchen.
“Mesopotamia?” Laverne laughed.
“From a mud hut to Pizza Hut within the blink of an evil eye.”
“We’ve got her on the run,” Laverne smirked. “I love waitresses.”
“Excuse me, but did you find your earring?” a dashing maître d’ approached our table.
“How did you know that’s what I was looking for?” Laverne asked, delighted.
“It’s my job to notice everything. For example, I also noticed that you didn’t order a drink. May I get you one now?”
“A gin and tonic would be lovely,” came the order.
“When I return, I’ll help you look for your earring,” he promised, before dashing off.
“Dark and swarthy with an accent. Good thing he wasn’t selling sand because you’d have ordered it as a starter.”
“You know us Valley Girls,” Laverne sighed, “we just can’t resist a man in cuneiform.”
Comet me, Bro!
“Trump’s building a Death Star,” Laverne announced whilst reloading. “Good for him.”
“For building a Death Star?”
“For keeping busy during lockdown.”
“Is it a family affair?”
“He’ll fly it and Melania’s going to serve the drinks.
“I imagine there’ll be a launch…”
“By invitation only in the Space Force Lounge at Mar-A-Lago Int’l Airport.”
“Tickets won’t be cheap.”
“You could just buy a hat.”
“There’s a Space Force hat?”
“And a ring.”
“How do you know all this?” I was amazed.
“Forewarned is forearmed,” Laverne replied coolly, smelling the air. “They’re coming for us, so you and me need a plan.”
“Two tickets?”
“One-way.”
“I just have one question.”
“Shoot.”
“Why are you firing anchovies into that tree with a catapult?”
“Because the squirrel currently residing in it ripped open our garbage bags during the night and left a putrid mess for me to clean up this morning.”
“And?”
“Two can play that game, my friend. Now get me Mar-a-Lago on the blower because he’s going to need a Rear Gunner.”
Just Desserts
“My dry cleaner’s been wearing my clothes at weekends,” Laverne announced.
“How do you know?”
“Last night she posted a picture of herself in a dress identical to one I dropped off two days ago.”
“How’d she look in it?” I asked tentatively.
“Fabulous.”
“Bitch!”
“Exactly.”
“Want me to cut her?”
“We’ll swing by on the way home. On Saturdays, the old man leaves early so she’ll be on her own at closing time,” she gave it some thought, “but right now I need something to eat.”
We’d journeyed into Manchester for lunch due to a lockdown in our own town. Nacho Daddy was a tapas bar in the student quarter where, upon entry, all diners were required to sign in and leave a contact phone number. Reaching for the clipboard Laverne hesitated, her hand hovering over the sign-in sheet. Upon reflection, she dropped a business card and ordered me not to touch anything.
“Him over there,” she gestured towards a table of businessmen as we sat down, “the fat one. He was the last person to touch the pen.”
“How do you know?” I was intrigued.
“Because his food hasn’t arrived yet and the ink was smudged.”
“Are you saying he licked the sign-in sheet?”
“I’m saying fat people sweat more than normal people.”
“Normal people?” I balked.
“Sure. Ever stood behind one waiting to buy an ice cream?”
“Babies are born fat and they’re normal.”
“Some babies are born fat; the greedy ones. The rest of us come out as nature intended. All I’m saying is, he was the last person to touch that pen and there isn’t enough hand sanitizer in the world-”
“-you should have been a spy.”
“How do you know I’m not?” she countered, now scrutinizing the cutlery. “For all you know I might be in the Secret Service.”
“Which would mean that’s not a real watch.”
“Well spotted, my friend. This gizmo’s actually a teeny, tiny voting machine.”
“And the brooch?”
“It contains emergency stem cells for Melania.”
“There’s not much of it,” I queried.
“Slovenians are notoriously small-boned.”
“Hey, you said Melania. I thought spies used code names while working in the field.”
“She goes by Lady Penelope because she starts every day with a bowl of Ferrero Roche cereal. Pure class.”
“And what’s his code name?”
“This month he’s Mr Whippy.”
“And last month?”
“The Mean Tangerine. He lets me choose them.”
“I love it. Got any survival tips?”
“Keep low and move fast. Oh, and stop chatting to strangers; it unnerves them,” Laverne chided. “Have you seen a waiter anywhere?”
“Right here,” a young man appeared. “What may I get you to drink?”
“Dark rum and Coke, please,” Laverne ordered. “Excuse me, but are you Portuguese?”
“I’m impressed,” he lit up. “Yes, I’m from Lisbon.”
“I’ve been to Lisbon. It’s beautiful.”
“I grew up there but my parents retired to The Algarve.”
“Can’t blame them. I wouldn’t want Madonna for a neighbour either,” I winced. “Crotchless panties flapping away on a clothes line just over the fence? No, thank you.”
“The devil’s bunting,” Laverne’s eyes narrowed. “You weren’t warned about that in Fatima.”
“No, we weren’t,” our waiter laughed. “I did see her coming out of City Hall once. She looked straight at me.”
“Well, you be very careful because you’re just her type,” Laverne warned. “And while we’re on the subject: why are Iberian men so good looking anyway?”
“Because our mothers are all beautiful,” the waiter replied.
“Aww…” Laverne melted. “I’ll bet you go to church as well, don’t you?”
“St Joseph’s. I’ll bring your drinks over in a minute.”
“He seems like a nice guy,” I decided, watching as he made his way over to the bar.
“And that’s exactly what gets an agent killed on his first day. You’re too trusting.”
“What should I do?”
“I’ll taste-test your food before you eat it,” Laverne insisted.
“The last time you did that I hardly had any dessert left.”
“Rice pudding’s tricky. There’s a whole chapter on it.”
“So, what are you going to do about your dry cleaner then?” I returned to the matter at hand.
“Mess with her head. I’m going to start dropping off dresses which are a size too small for me, but before I do, I’ll change the labels.”
“Why bother going to all that trouble with the labels if she won’t be able to fit into them?”
“Because she’ll think she’s putting on weight and she won’t know why.”
“Whoa!” I sucked in my breath at the evil genius of it. “Most guys would just throw a punch and that would be the end of it.”
“Now where’s the fun in that?” Laverne purred. “Wouldn’t you rather watch your enemy slowly go mad?”
“Hey, would you ever mess with my head?”
“You’re not a Size 10.”
“Neither are you but answer the question.”
“What do you think?” she raised an eyebrow.
“I think you’re smart but I’m smarter.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yup,” I was adamant.
“So then, let me put this to you: have you ever ordered a dessert you know I don’t like?”
Damn.
Thank Queue
“I’m watching you,” the voice came down the phone.
“Where are you?” I asked, pulling into the car park.
“Drive straight on until you see a yellow Smart Car. I’m just past it on the right.”
“Did you say yellow?”
“I know, don’t even-”
“-who in their right mind drives around in a yellow Smart Car?”
“Banana Man.”
“Who’s Banana Man?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe Big Bird’s in town.”
“Big Bird couldn’t drive a Smart Car with those toes. They’re the size of fire extinguishers.”
“Maybe it’s an automatic.”
“Again, with feet that size, I’d say: still too dangerous.”
“Yet it’s perfectly okay for a banana to get behind the wheel?” I queried. “I’m appalled and yet intrigued.”
“Bananas are good for you.”
“I don’t know what’s real anymore.”
“Good because I need you to shut up anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because our yellow friend is sporting a bumper sticker.”
“NO!”
“Oh, yes. Would you like to know what it says?”
“More than I need toilet paper.”
“It’s contains an axiom for all of humanity,” I was baited further, “written in glitter.”
I slammed on the brakes to avoid an accident.
“Kittens are angels with whiskers,” Laverne purred down the phone.
“So are grannies,” I argued, as the vehicle in question came into view. “Jesus, they’re driving a two-door lemon!”
“Dog-hating weirdos,” Laverne muttered, watching me park. “Long time, no see. How are you?”
“Fine,” I started walking over to her.
“Stop right there or I’ll activate my Social Distancing Alarm,” she stretched out her arm like a traffic cop.
“Sorry, I’m still getting used to all that,” I backed away slowly.
“Luckily, I’ve been practising social distancing since I was a five,” she sniffed. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
We’d arranged to meet at ASDA because our respective households were running low on essentials, plus, we wanted to catch up with each other in person. Crossing the supermarket car park, we were soon greeted by a queue that curled out of the entrance and along the entire storefront before disappearing around a corner.
“Good God!” Laverne stopped dead in her tracks. “They’re lining up the infected and shooting them!”
“More toilet paper for us then.”
“Quite right,” she pressed onward. “Every cloud and all that.”
Directed past countless, evenly-spaced shoppers by a team of brightly attired Queue Coordinators, we began to lose hope when one of them waved us over. Jean usually worked the cigarette counter but had been commandeered to keep customers orderly outside.
“John, what are you doing in the queue?” she asked. “You’re an essential worker. You can go straight in. Who’s this?”
“I’m the help,” Laverne winked.
“Not with those rings, Sweetheart,” Jean laughed. “Go on then, if you’re together.”
“These two are essential workers!” she hollered to a colleague guarding the entrance and, as if on cue, the queue burst into spontaneous applause.
“What the-”
“You’re the new Harry & Meghan,” Jean cackled. “Work that red carpet!”
“I was going to be a nurse,” Laverne whispered, before addressing the queue. “Remember, 2m apart! Social distancing means more nurses on the job and fewer ill at home.”
“Would you shut the hell up?” I whispered back.
“Not a chance,” she smiled and waved to her subjects. “Look at how happy they are. Anyway, it could have been worse: your friend could have said we were the new Donald & Melanoma.”
“You mean Melania.”
“What’s the difference?”
“You’d know if you were a nurse.”
“Hey, I’ve got a husband and three teenaged sons which means I’ve been on call since 1978,” Laverne said, lifting up a baby.
“Five minutes ago you were passing yourself off as my housekeeper.”
“And now look at me. John, my mere presence is filling the great void within these peoples’ lives. If there’s one thing I learned in school it’s that nature abhors a vacuum.”
True, but not as much as the help.
Dead Giveaway
“I’m writing my will,” I announced.
“Oh my God!” Alison covered her mouth. “Are you dying? Can I get you something? A glass of water?”
“No, I’m not dying, but if I were I hope to God there’d be more on offer than tap water.”
“Save it for your nurse,” Alison fired back. “You scared me just then.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry. No, I’ve decided I want to leave money to a good cause.”
“You have money?” Alison appeared surprised.
“I might have, by then,” I was a tad taken aback by the question.
“Do you consider anyone present a good cause?” Dave ventured, taking a visual inventory of my lounge.
“Don’t worry, you’re all getting something but I want to leave a legacy, something worthwhile.”
“Oh, great,” Laverne looked at the others. “I’m getting his Margaret Atwood Anthology while a bunch of rotten schoolkids are going to score an iPad.”
“No, I’ve been looking into it and I think I’d like to help save the rhino.”
“Since when?”
“Since about three o’clock because it’s taken me all morning to think of a good cause.”
“Why rhinos?” Dave was curious.
“I did a project on them in school and got an A+ on it, so I guess I’m saying thanks in my own little way.”
“And which rhinos are we talking about in particular?” Laverne cast her line.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean which rhinos? Javan, Sumatran, black, white… and I think there’s a fifth. You guys?”
“It says here there’s a great, one-horned rhino,” Alison scrolled through her phone.
I smelled an ambush.
“The white rhino. I’m saving white ones.”
“What do you have against black ones?”
“Nothing.”
“According to the statistics, there are a lot more white rhinos. Maybe you should help the black ones,” Alison scrolled further. “Oh, wait… the black ones have been making a comeback. That’s good.”
“Actually, it’s the black rhinos you hear about in the news all the time. You don’t really hear much about the white rhino anymore,” Dave joined in. “And are they even white or is that just from rolling around in the dust because they actually look sorta grey.”
“There are thousands of white rhinos and less than one-hundred of the Javan and Sumatran ones,” Laverne was also on her phone. “Actually, those last two don’t even have horns, just bumps. And they’re a lot smaller than the African ones. Are they still rhinos if they no longer look like rhinos?”
“Maybe they’re hybrids. Fifty percent rhino, fifty percent… I dunno… hippo. Someone will have DNA-tested their lineage.”
“Maybe they no longer think of themselves as rhinos. Maybe they identify as something completely different.”
I could feel it all slipping away from me.
“Maybe they were shipped to Asia,” Alison suggested, “although why would you transport rhinos anywhere? Saying that, if they were relocated back to Africa they’d be disadvantaged compared to the ones with horns.”
“The other rhinos would probably attack them,” Laverne turned to me. “Is that what you want? Rhino gang wars?”
“I’m not following your logic,” I replied, “but do go on.”
“You want to donate money to the white rhino who outnumber all the others combined-“
“-yeah, but hold on… proportionally, all the others are doing better than the white ones now,” Alison interrupted her. “And did you know that the northern white rhino is down to its last two?”
“In the whole world?” Dave checked he’d heard correctly.
“Yep, there are only two females left. “
“Then it’s the females we ought to be helping; they’re the ones producing the next generation,” Laverne decided. “We don’t even need the males, just a cup of their you-know-what. What are you doing to help these two females?”
“They’ll be in captive breeding programs,” I suggested, tentatively. “They’ll breed them with the other whites.”
“Why not the black ones?” came the riposte. “They’re the ones being shot left, right and centre. It’s not the white ones being killed, is it?”
“And what if the females don’t want to breed? Don’t they have a say in it? Why is it up to the males?” Alison queried.
Update: I’ll be leaving everything to the goldfish.
‘Tis The Seasoning
Went out with friends for Christmas Eve lunch at The Pu Pu Pot. Everyone was a regular, except for Steve, who stopped eating Chinese food after watching a Channel 4 documentary on Wuhan street food. Whilst perusing the menu, Laverne casually asked if anyone had ever tried shirako.
“Sounds Japanese, not Chinese,” I said.
“The Japanese call it shirako, so you’re right,” she confirmed, “but it’s popular throughout Asia.”
“What is it?” Steve asked, trying to locate it on the menu.
“It’s an exotic delicacy. Most foreigners won’t touch it.”
Laverne was up to something.
“It’s the raw male genitalia of fish which still contains the seminal fluid and all the sperm sacs. It’ll be called something different in Chinese.”
Steve turned gray.
“They liken it to runny cream cheese,” she continued, breezily.
“Another time, guys,” Steve muttered, grabbing his coat.
Although we pleaded with him to stay, he’d heard enough.
“Never really liked him,” Laverne remarked to no one in particular, as she motioned for the waiter. “Are we ordering starters?”
“Poor Steve, but at least now he won’t have to try shirako,” Alison giggled.
“They don’t serve it here. Never have,” Laverne reassured everyone. “Anyway, it’s an acquired taste.”
So is Laverne.
Mr Ormsby At Large 