Chacon à son goût - Short Story by Margaret Wilde

Chacon à son goût

"Jane! I thought I’d just call to see if you’d like to come Blustifening with me. The emulsion is much easier to deal with when there are two doing it – and the rabbits don’t get quite so nervous."

"Oh I am so sorry, Sue. It’s my Tenti-fu class tonight. I don’t want to miss it. We’re on to: ‘How to treat a cerebral haemorrhage by lightly stroking the upper lip with the little finger of the left hand.’ It’s really interesting. – By the way, how’s your Shestu progressing?"

"Well I’ve done the stitching and glueing. There’s still the crushed eggshell to add and I haven’t lacquered the raffia border yet. I do hope I’ll get it finished in time for Robert’s birthday. He’s been so depressed since failing the Speculative Paraphysical Metanomenism course you know."

"But he’s still Pliskering, I take it?"

"Of course. He wouldn’t miss that for worlds. As a matter of fact he got a rise at work when he showed them a photocopy of his Proficiency Certificate, Grade 1. They hadn’t a single Pliskerer on the staff before – and you never know when someone will be called upon to deal with an exploding typewriter submerged in diesel oil, do you?

"Now, can I put you down for the Group’s Slide Show on Saturday? You remember, we said we’d each bring colour slides of our latest diplomas, so that the rest of us can see if we fancy them. It’s so important to ensure that they don’t clash with the décor, isn’t it?"

Margaret Wilde © 1986