'Where are we having dinner this year?' My paramour asked, quietly pulling his socks as though he was felling trees and blowing up buildings with Semtex. Any minute now he's going to over flip his van by driving it up a bank of clay.
De dit de, dit de de, diddle de dutt dit de, da de diddle du!
'Dunno.' I replied, grabbing piggy and diving deeper under the duvet.
Dive! Dive, periscope down!
Eek, tapping on the submarine walls? What's that, Morse code? Dolphins? Bees? Beephins? It better not be a whale shark, we're scared of them piggy, oh yes. They only eat crill my arse.
Suddenly a great flash of light, and cold, sooo veryyyyy coooold.
The hull capin' she cannae take it!
'You must have spoken to Etheline about it.'
'Who?' I say squintingly, wincingly, sqincingly.
'No, no conversations.' I inch away, back into my fox hole. If I move fast I can catch up. The dark swallows me. Warmth. I close my eyes. There! In the distance. Look piggy, an island. Ohhh, a hammock. We like them piggy. Say, I like the way you've suddenly turned into a Polly Pocket Pony. Let's ride! Hi-ho Piggy Pony awayyyyy!
''Because your elder sister mentioned something the last time we were out there.'
Sigh, damn and blast.
Oh gossamer sleep, fingers fading, drifting away back to the underworld. Goodbye! I will see you later. Wave good bye piggy! Bye! We love you!
'Paramour I don't know. The lilac One wants us to go to her house, that's the last I heard about it.'
'Humf.' My future husband says, fastening his watch, shooting delph with a blunderbuss. 'Why don't we have it?'
'Say what now?'
'Why don't we have it?'
'Oh I don't know, too many people for here.'
'Not here, at the new house. I mean the kitchen's in.'
Suckered in, pushed around, no sir, not at this door, not even if there's a thud and one week later the smell is so bad you need a hanky across your mouth to keep from passing out, don't come knocking, not for any reason, not on this door, do you get me sweetheart?
'Just think about it. Our first Christmas dinner. Might be nice.'
He kisses me on the top of the head and leaves to make coffee.
The bigger of the cats joins me as soon as the door is open.
I dance piggy across the bed to him in a tippity-tap fashion. 'I've got something in my front pocket for you...why don't you put your hand in a give it a squeeze...' I sing in a 1940's wobbly voice, waggling piggy's feet.
The bigger of the cats bashes piggy's poor head twice with blinding speed and razor sharp claws. I stop tormenting him immediately.
Oh if only Paramours were so easy to train.