I've started a new story. The kind that I'm better at. (Yes, I'm still writing the WW2 one, but there's no harm done with two projects at once.)
Well, the title speaks for itself. It's a lazy excuse for a blog post, I know, but here it is, anyway. I wrote it several minutes ago, and I hope you like it, and all that.
Mark that it has not yet been properly edited, please. And if you happen to stumble across one, tell me if there are any painstakingly embarrassing typos. Thank you; you really are a good sort. :-)
It was a marvellous occasion, Nathan Rum – or, as we called him, Rummy –’s engagement party. My good friend, Parker, and I were remarking on it on the duration of it. We were standing somewhere on the side, with a glass of champagne in our hands. I was also nibbling on a home-made jam biscuit; made by Rummy’s mother. They could have been better.
“Nice party, right?” Parker started.
“Yes? Um, oh, yes,” I said. I kind of half-woke up, as I was musing over my neighbour’s dare to his twin brother, which, I thought, was a very unreasonable dare and which, I decided, I had to tell him when I came home.
“Oh yes,” I repeated. “Jolly nice party.”
“Rummy looks very happy.”
“Ghastly shoes, though, he’s wearing,” I remarked randomly. Because they were rather odd. Red and white; the tapping-kind.
“I thought the same,” Parker agreed. “He’s not, after all, Fred Astaire. He has no right to wear tapping shoes to his own engagement party.”
“Ah, but ‘right’ he has. He has every right. It’s just that I happen to think nothing of them.”
“I think they make a gorgeous couple. Look how their smiles match!” Parker smiled broadly, looking rather oaf-like when the smile was at its broadest point.
“Ah!” I chuckled. “Nonono – I didn’t mean that I think nothing of them – as in, Rummy and Laura. I think nothing of them, as in, his shoes.”
“Oh. Yes. Yes, of course.” Parker smiled again, although he didn’t reach the oaf-like part. “So you do think something of Rummy and Laura.”
“Oh yes, of course, yes.”
We looked at them together for a moment. It was an awkward moment, because Laura just happened to kiss him as we looked, and Rummy just happened to stroke some hair behind her ears. Parker blushed. I don’t know if I did, but I don’t think so. I might have.
“Ah, yes,” I said. “Very nice. Jolly sporting couple. But I disagree with you about their smiles. Laura’s smile isn’t half as crooked as Rummy’s smile.”
“I suppose,” Parker mumbled. But he was thinking of something else. I asked him what, and he said, “I want to get married, too!”
He looked like he was about to burst into tears.
“Cheer up,” I awkwardly said.
“No! I can’t!”
“What do you mean, you can’t? Of course you can.”
“But I want to get married!” At this stage, Parker reminded me of a spoilt one-year-old, with yellow curls and blue eyes, who was fed on caviar.
“Oh, of all the things, Parker. Of course you can get married.”
“How?!” Parker gasped, realising things he had never realised before. “How can I? No girls like me. No girl has ever liked me.”
“Mmm,” I mused. He had a point. He had a reason to worry.
“Do you want to get married, Marty?”
“Me? Married?” I gave a scoff, and choked ever so slightly on a bit of Rummy’s mother’s home-made jam biscuits which could have been better. “Oh, nonono.”
“Well. Well – I. Welll.” I spluttered a little, suddenly realising that I did, in fact, want to get married. Or engaged, at least. I looked at Rummy and Laura again, and saw how Laura’s arm was so snugly tucked into Rummy’s arm, and how they laughed so happily.
“Well?” Parker asked.
Parker simply looked. He always had been one of my more patient friends.
I finally found my voice. “Well! I suppose – yes. Yes! Yes, old chum. I’m on the same boat as you, old chap. I want to get married too!”
Parker and I shook hands. It felt like a special occasion, so we drank on it, re-filled our glasses, and drank on it again. “How jolly!” Parker exclaimed, and he smiled some.
Well? What say you?
And let's finish off with an adorable picture, just because.