Monday, March 16, 2015

Bedtime story


One tosses.

The other turns.

One huffs.

The other sighs.

Outside, the restless wind harrasses the trees, un-settling the un-sleepers.

One reaches out, nudges the other.

The other grunts.

One nudges again.

Dooon’t,’ says the other.

One scoots closer, weaseling one’s way under the other’s arm, resting one’s head on the other’s shoulder.

The other groans.

‘Tell me a story,’ says one.

The other groans again, louder this time. ‘Go to sleep.’

‘Can’t,’ says one. ‘Neither can you. Tell me a story.’

‘Don’t want to,’ protests the other.

Do iiiit...’ whines one.

‘Okay,’ says the other, now devious. ‘Once upon a time, there was a princess...’

‘No, I don’t like that. It’s boring. Do another one.’

‘... a princess who was also a gynaecologist.’

‘That’s better.’

‘She worked as a gynaecologist and master vajazzler before she met the prince.’

‘Uh-huh. What happened next?’

‘The prince was an architect.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘And together they built a magical city for the poor.’

‘Uh-uh.’

‘In the city was a vajazzling clinic.’

‘For the poor.’

‘Yup.’

‘Because poor people can’t afford diamant√© patterns on their private parts, poor sods.’

‘That’s right.’

‘What else?’

‘A big parking lot.’

‘Huh?’

‘Filled with Bentleys and Lamborghinis.’

‘For the poor?’

‘For the poor.’

‘And for kids who can’t drive Lamborghinis good.’

‘Indeed.’

‘What else?’

‘There was also ... wait for it ...’

‘What? What else was there in the magical city for the poor?’

‘... a craft beer garden.’

‘Of course.’

‘Imagine never being able to afford craft beer.’

We can’t afford craft beer.’

‘Mmm.’

‘Are you sleepy yet?’ says one.

‘Mmm,’ says the other.

‘That was a good story. I liked it.’

‘Oh good.’

One kisses the other’s cheek, nuzzles his neck and breathes in the delicious sleepy scent of him.

One rolls over and, miraculously, manages to fall asleep.

So does the other.

The end.













 
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