Monday August 12th, 2013

The exercise:

Write about: the dinner party.

Sorry, Greg, that's the best I could do. I've already used potluck as a prompt. Way back in the days when haiku did not yet rule Tuesdays, but still.

An upset stomach kept me out of the garden today, but seems to have knocked it off now. So hopefully it won't decide to return in order to screw with tomorrow's box harvest.

Mine:

Michael, as always, brought his favorite dish. No one was quite sure what it was, only that it smelled unpleasantly of fish. If you're taking a bite, I'd suggest making a wish.

Dave walked through the door with a plate in each hand. Which, at first, sounds quite grand. Until you realize that one offering is beyond bland and the other is covered with sand.

Terry arrived in style, wearing his usual gap-toothed smile. The best I can say for his food is that only sometimes it tastes like bile. The rest of the time... there are no words, it's just too vile.

My contribution to the party, you ask? Ah, it's about time - I've been waiting to bask! It's the one over there, in the metal flask. Oh, but before you go try a sample... you should probably put on this gas mask.

5 Comments:

Greg said...

Rhymed prose! it's been a while since you treated us to that :) Nicely structured, elegantly told.., and still not a dinner party I'd willingly go to!
I hope the upset stomach is completely transitory and that Max doesn't catch it from you, given that he's been causing you enough alarms lately :)

The dinnerparty
John and Rosie stopped at the front door and John rang the bell while Rosie looked around nervously and pulled her coat tightly closed.
"I don't like this neighbourhood," she whispered. "And this house looks like a crackden."
"Well, it is," said John. "It's my dealer's dinnerparty."
Rosie stared at him, eyes widened with shock and her pretty mouth falling open. "What!"
"He said his house-mates wanted to try being properly social for onc – oh! Hi Dave!"
The door had opened and the skeletal Dave hovered uncertainly at the threshold. He reminded Rosie of Frank'n'furter from the Rocky Horror show, not least because he was wearing a leather basque over a white dress shirt and slightly holey dress trousers.
"You came?" Dave's voice was slightly creaky like it didn't get used enough. "Oh wow. Come on in!" He didn't move for a moment, then stepped backwards, and John led the way.
"We brought wine," squeaked Rosie, holding the bottle out like a cross to a vampire.
"Thanks," said Dave. He didn't look at the label, and just put the bottle on the splintered hall table. "Uh, the only place we could find a big enough table was in the basement, so we're downstairs."
"John!" Rosie hissed his name and tugged his sleeve so that they fell slightly back behind Dave. "We can't stay here!"
"Let's just see what they've done, then we'll make excuses and leave," said John quietly. "We're inside now."
"So, my house-mates are free-loaders," said Dave, heading down the stairs.
"Freegans, you ass!" came a voice from below.
"Uh yeah, that," said Dave. "So they did some dumpster-diving behind the zoo. The appetisers are Seal, I think, and the main course is Elephant.
John made to catch her arm, but Rosie was already at the top of the stairs and running for the front door.

David said...

"Jesus, Abraham Lincoln, and Mickey Mouse."

"Mickey ain't real."

"Neither is Honest Abe."

"I said living or dead, which means real people."

"Then Sarah Palin, Michelle Obama, and that girl from the fourth season of Survivor."

"Sarah Palin isn't real."

"Can we just eat already."

MosesMalone said...

By the time we actually sat down for Mare’s dinner party, Johnny was mad at Mare. Mare was mad at life. Michelle was mad at Brian, Shawn and Moira. Brian was mad at Moira. Shawn was mad at Kerri and Moira. Kerri was mad at herself for being mad at Shawn and Moira. Maiti was mad at Moira and the cooked carrots, and Moira was mad at Mare, Johnny, Michelle, Brian, Shawn, Kerri, Maiti, and the cooked carrots.

In spite of it all, Mary and Charles happily sat through countless dinner parties at their oldest daughter, Mare, and her husband, Johnny’s house. Contrary to what 5 and 4 year old Moira and Maiti thought, the cooked carrots were actually pretty good. God Bless their daughter and her 6 kids.

morganna said...

Emily groaned quietly, The supper table was just as chaotic as the great hall had been this morning.

Her father was quite plainly barmy -- at this moment he seemed to think he was dining with an Indian rajah, her brother was eating with his fingers, surrounded by adoring dogs, and her mother was ignoring everything, alone at the foot of the table, concentrating on her food as though she were dining alone.

Emily decided she'd rather eat in silence than Bedlam, and picked up her plate and sat down next to her mother.

They ate together companionably. Emily noticed her mother never even blinked at the antics at the other end of the table, not even when her father jumped up on the table and began belting out a bawdy song at the top of his lungs, to the howling delight of the dogs.

Soon after that, her mother's plate was clear. She laid her knife and fork neatly atop it. Emily decided she was also done, and did the same. Her mother rose and said, "Come upstairs with me, dear. I think we have much to discuss."

Marc said...

Greg - yeah, I was realizing it had been too long. Glad you appreciated me bringing it back :)

All is well on the health front, I'm happy to report. I managed to get rid of... whatever it was... without passing it along to the little man.

Heh, I love that Dave is surprised they came. Though I can hardly blame him... or Rosie for her flight :P

David - hahaha. I can hear that final line being spoken by myself quite easily.

Mo - hah, that opening paragraph is tricky jungle to follow, which makes it rather effective.

Morganna - so glad you came back to this. I am deeply curious to see what mom and daughter have to say to each other in private.