Fictionlet
“You know about those long, narrow wind instruments called ‘recorders,’ right?” said Greg, putting a fork into the dishwasher.
“Yeah?” said Brigid warily, offering him a dirty plate. The tone of his voice suggested she was going to regret answering him.
He took the plate and transferred it to the dishwasher. “Well, if you tried to order one of those from a service and it didn’t take, so you had to order it again, would that be a ‘recorder reorder’?”
“Argh,” said Brigid, and handed him a glass.
“And if, when it arrived, it was wrapped in ribbed suede, would that be a corduroy recorder?” he asked, shifting a dirty mug to make room for the glass.
“Uh huh,” said Brigid, offering him another plate.
“Or if the ribbed suide was just trim on the ends of it, would that be a corduroy-bordered recorder?”
“Greg…” Brigid said, eyebrows looming.
“And if you had to order it twice, would it be a corduroy-bordered recorder reorder?”
In half a second, his collar was clenched in a fist and she’d yanked his face down level with hers. “Shut up before I shoot you,” she said matter-of-factly.
-The Gneech
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(Trivia Note: This Fictionlet is actually a prose version of a bit of banter between Cyrano and Katie from my first comic strip, Whistling In the Dark. There was a lot of B&G in those two.)
