I see you have the Christmas tree up already, Harriet.
Yes, Martin. I’m hoping to have a rather busy holiday season this year, so I thought I’d get a jump-start on decorating the house.
Probably a good idea, Darling. That will leave you more time nearer the holidays for heavily fortified eggnog.
Oh do shut up, Martin.
Harriet, the loveliest thing about being dead AND here, is the fact I don’t have to shut up ever again if I am so inclined. So you’re really that glad to be rid of me this holiday season?
Please don’t make me answer that, Martin. I work hard to keep up the bitch illusion.
Illusion? Good lord, woman! If that’s an illusion, then I’m nominating you for an Oscar.
Yes, yes. I know all about it. Blah, blah, blah. You know Martin, if you hadn’t been so obsessed with making money, you might have got to know me better. I’m not so bad once you really know me.
Actually, Love, I think I know you quite well. During our marriage I got to see the real you on more than a few occasions.
Oh? Name one.
Silly woman. Alright. What about the fight you had with my cousin at our tenth anniversary? You defended me when she called me names and talked about me behind my back. You were one hundred percent my Harriet that day.
Martin, I was drunk. Some of my finest moments have happened while I was inebriated.
I know Dear, but it’s expected. You’re ornary when you’re sober. Drunk you’re much easier to sort out.
Oh Harriet, is that the ornament we got when we went to that little bed and breakfast up north. That shabby little craft fair with some of the most beautiful ornaments. We decided on that Turtle Dove together.
I remember, Martin. It was a lovely Christmas get-a-way.
That weekend stands out in my mind as one of our most memorable.
No complaints from me on that one, dear. I’ll always treasure the image I carry of you in those silly candy cane boxers.
Yes, well, lets not forget your slutty elf costume, Harriet. Including the damn pointed ears.
I’ll bet you’d love to see me in that costume on occasion, eh, Martin?
More than you know, dear. More than you know.
Copyright – J. Thompson – All rights reserved.
Content is not to be copied, extracted, or reproduced in any form.