The Poser

The other night my wife asked me how I liked the movie we just watched.

“Bloody brilliant!” I said

“Really?” she said. “How much longer do I have to put up with this?”

“Put up with what?”

“Your damn Anglophile posings!”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.”

“There! You’re doing it now!  And how about last week when I asked you to go to the butcher’s to pick up the turkey. Do you remember what you said to me?”

“Go on, Miss, My memories a bit dreadful these days.”

“You said, ‘What, the one what’s as big as me?' in the worst damn English accent since Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins.”

“Pardon?”

“See? You’re doing it again. Stop it! And this online writing thing you’re always so busy with. How do you know it isn’t all just some lonely old guy sitting in a room somewhere in London yanking your chain and playing with his willie? See! Now you’ve got me doing it!”

“I shan’t be spoken to in such a manner."

“Oh, you shan’t, shan’t you?"

“Exactly what are you on about, woman?"

“I’m on about pulling the plug on you radio waves. Or whatever it is that’s got you not talking in you normal voice. Because if it’s not English, than you’re sitting there typing, and mumbling like some grade B film noir gangster."

“Listen, doll! What I do at da keyboard is my business, see? You dames is always goin’ around thinkin’ ya runnin’ things! Well, ya ain’t runnin’ this mug, see! I can tell ya that right now, sister! It’s gettin’ so a fella can’t breathe!”

“I’m going to bed,” she said. “You can be so exasperating at times. You’re lucky I love you. And please don’t stay up too late writing. I think that may be you’re problem. You get over-tired and forget who you are. So, good night, dear one, and please remember to turn out the lights on the Christmas tree.”

“Good night, dear. And God bless us, every one!”

“Oh, go put a sock in it, Richard!”

“What’d I say?”