Cynthia threw the last mug that the cupboard held. She had much to be angry about.
"YOU SON-OF-A-BANANA BOAT CAPTAIN!" she screeched on the top of her voice. "How the hell could you?"
Her rant continued for what seemed like five minutes, when in actuality it was more like ten.
J.P. had no response to her tirade; he didn't move a muscle. He was totally unconscious.
"If you think that you're just going to lay there bleeding, you have another guess coming!" Cynthia wound down. "GET UP!"
J.P. started to stir...
so no panic then?!!! good story and... thankyou for leaving a kind comment on my post!
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ReplyDeleteOnly he was interrupted by an immense applause from the audience which made him stand up and bow.
ReplyDeleteThis year’s annual amateur theatre play already proved to be such a success and J.P. aka Johnny Petterson, the local shopkeeper, couldn’t help laughing.
The show was over.
J.P. called for his fellow actor, Anna, and she came forward along with the other actors.
The audience stood up.
“A banana boat captain?” J.P. whispered, “how did you come up with that?”
“Because a banana boat entered the harbour this morning,” Anna said, “and the captain refuses to pay for the jetty he ruined.”
Anna’s married to the local harbour inspector.
“So you just changed Strindberg’s words?”
“Got to get it out somehow,” she said.
“Yeah, that might teach him,” Johnny said, “we’ll let him know.”
The captain of the banana boat had to call assistance from far away Copenhagen.
Oh, well, done, Andrea. I would never have thought of that ending in a million years.
ReplyDeleteAnd Walt, what a lead in. Kudos to you both. Thoroughly enjoyed this small interlude. I'll see if I can come up with something for this, though I know I can't top it.
I promised myself to come and play each day for at least a week. So, expect me back later.
J.P. moaned and rolled over onto his side. "You didn't have to use a roundhouse on me," he accused.
ReplyDelete"You're lucky I didn't use a throat shot," Cynthia slammed the cupboard door, popping it off the hinge. "You'd think a college educated man would have sense enough to put the convertible in the garage before redirecting the sprinklers in the front lawn."
J.P. groaned and stayed on the floor. "I don't know what you're talking about, Cindy." A deep flush rose from his neck. He'd needed that nap, hadn't he?
Cynthia stood over him, a pitcher of iced tea in her hand. "Of course you don't, you little weasel."
The shower she gave him last as long as tea fell from the pitcher. His shocked gasp lasted considerably longer.
You've got the drama that the opening called for - yes.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Andrea. I wasn't sure what I could do with so few words.
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