Funerals & Pipes

Harriet what did you bury me in, Darling?

Are you kidding, Martin? I’d have thought with an ego like yours, you’d have attended your own funeral.

Seems I didn’t. At least, I don’t remember doing so.

Ah, well. It was a lovely somber affair. Your coffin was sensational. Lined with simple gray satin. You looked so natural, Martin. I wept. You’ll never hear me admit that again, but I wept with the loss of you. Your stunning blue suit. That’s what I buried you in. The onyx cufflinks.

Sounds nice, Harriet. Thank you. I won’t tell a soul about your having some heart.

No one would believe you anyway. I’m a bitch, remember?

How could I forget, Darling. The first I remember after my …um…passing, was hovering over the bar in the living room, watching you stew in your scotch and water.

Shut up. You were dead, for god’s sake. What else does a widow do? I drank for three days straight.

Harriet that’s sweet that you mourned me like that.

Gad,, Martin. I wasn’t mourning you. I wept with joy at the freedom.

You lie, woman.

Do I?

Yes, you do.

Ah, I suppose I do. I do miss you, Martin. On occasion. Not the sex of course, but…

Here we go again. For so bright a woman, You really stink at the insults.

Yes, I never had time to practice them like you, Darling. I was busy with college.

Oh God, here we go. I was a college drop out. But I sure kept your sorry ass in the manner in which you’d never before become accustomed. Can’t you think of anything else to insult me with, Harriet. I’ll even give you a few minutes. Come up with something new.

I could if I gave it any thought, but I really am not in the mood. I have to admit, Martin, that this sparring has its entertainment value. We didn’t bicker near this much when you were alive. I guess I feel braver knowing you can’t throw your pipe at me again. Lit, at that. Miss it much, Darling? That lovely aroma of sweet tobacco. I’ll bet you could use a nice relaxing bowl of it right about now, eh, Dear?

Bitch.

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