It'll Never Work . .

Tess provides this photo for Mag 206 to stimulate our literary urges

"What are you screwing up your mouth like that for, dearest?"

 (Her answer is quasi-unintelligible by reason of her oscular contortions.  Dr. FTSE translates . . )

"You think I'm inviting you to give me a kiss?"

 (see above)

"Heaven forfend, dearest!  I'm aware kissing went out the window years ago."

"You've got that message, then?"

"Yeah . . so?  Let me guess. You're expecting someone - soon as I'm safely on my way? The milkman? The window cleaner?"

"How dare you make imputations as to my fidelity! Get off to the office."

(Makes disappointed man noises, then  . . )

"Well at least can I get my hat back?"

"There's plenty of mine in the closet."

"Hmmph!"

(Footsteps.  Door slams. Outside a car starts. Vrrooms off.)

Now dearest stands up. She takes off her husband's hat.  She faces the picture window.  She backs to the wall  opposite the window.  She drops into a sprinter's starting crouch.  Her 'On Your Marks. Set. Go!'  sounds like

"Mmmom wer marrs. Wet. Wo."  (because she wants to preserve the disposition of her lips.)

(She sprints across the room, launches herself at the window meeting it full face with her feet off the floor. There's a soft "Splat".  She does not stick as she had hoped but slithers down leaving a trail of crimson lipstick.)

"Sod it!  Liposuction fails again. Must try harder tomorrow. Maybe I need even more pucker."

(Well  . .  you've always known this is a Very Silly Blog.)