Squeeze and squeal.
The article for AlienSkin is submitted by the skin of the teeth I still have, so I took Senga to the Throat and Razor for tonight's live music event. She enjoyed it but then she's easily pleased. For example, I bought her a new frying pan the other day and she expressed her delight by forming an impression of my face in the base of it. All the fried food now looks like me. What greater flattery can a husband ask? When the bruising subsides, I'll buy her a new iron.
I was less impressed with the Throat and Razor's entertainment. There was a mouth-organ player who sounded like someone on far too many cigarettes and one with a thing called an 'accordion' which looked like a bellows and sounded like a box of angry cats. The guitar player had more fingers than strings but that's not too unusual for twelve-string guitar players in these parts. In his case, I had the impression that his mind was thinking one song but his fingers were playing another.
When Hamish McSquall got up to sing, I hastened Senga to the door. The survival rate for Hamish's singing is not as good as that from Ebola. Those who do survive recount a continuous screech in their ears which never stops but changes tone in the opposite direction to any real music they might hear.
And so we have had a night out as a married couple. I can check that particular chore from my list.
Comments
Your food now looks like you? That's lovely! It must be fun munching on something that resembles your cheek.
When we had the good President over the other day, I took up a box of doilies and asked kindly if he would imprint his face on it. Well, in the end we had to force him, but now we have a whole set of doilies around the house with the good President's face imprinted on them.
Next time he comes I shall ask him if he would kindly do our toilet paper.
Good post!
Posted by: Scott | June 6, 2009 11:33 PM