2043. Nancy’s meringues

Nancy would dominate every situation; but, my word, did she despise anyone who criticized? Criticism may not have brought out the best in her, but it brought out her creativity. When the pub proprietor near the local golf club suggested she was too loud during the after match spree, she managed without detection to slash the proprietor’s car tires. Well, that’s what was suspected. It wasn’t the case at all; she had paid someone else to do it.

And now Audrey, the timid little chairwoman of the meeting, who also organized refreshments after the monthly meeting of the City Suburbs Women’s Institute, had dared suggest that the cupcakes Nancy had brought along were crumbly. How dare she!

“How dare you, you little twerp,” spouted Nancy in a voice loud enough to be heard throughout the suburbs. “Meringues! Are these your meringues? They’re sticky and chewy. I‘ll show you how to make meringues.”

The next meeting Nancy brought along a large plate of meringues she had paid someone to make. Each was doubled over with whipped cream in the middle like a sandwich. The cream was Nancy’s contribution to the meringues. It had been designed to make everyone sick. (I don’t know what she used; I’m not a know-all). The whipped cream was infused with stuff that would make everyone get stomach cramps and vomit.

“This is how you make meringues,” declared Nancy, dumping her plate on the table prior to the monthly meeting of the City Suburbs Women’s Institute. “And they’re certainly not crumbly, nor sticky and chewy like yours.”

“The first item on the agenda,” said timid little Chairwoman Audrey, “is the removal of Nancy from the meeting.”

The motion was agreed to almost unanimously. (Is it possible to be almost unanimous?) “And don’t forget to take your plate of meringues,” said Audrey as Nancy passed the refreshments table. Nancy grabbed the edge of the tablecloth and took it with her. All plates of goodies clattered to the floor. Nancy swept into departure.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” said timid Audrey.

“I don’t know,” laughed Camilla the vice-chairwoman of the City Suburb’s Women’s Institute. “She’s a woman I admire so much for taking a stand.” Camilla laughed at what wasn’t even a joke. She giggled, and squealed, and shrieked, and twittered. And guffawed. “I admire her so much first and foremost for being a woman.”

“Perhaps, now that Nancy’s gone,” added Audrey, “we can start to get a few things done. But first, let’s get rid of Giggling Gertie. Hands up those in favour.” Camilla didn’t gather fragments of a broken plate of foodstuff as she passed the refreshments table, for she had brought nothing to the meeting.

20 thoughts on “2043. Nancy’s meringues

  1. umashankar

    The irony and understatement of the entire piece lies in an innocuous piece of aside injected by the author in the folds of an interesting story: ”I don’t know what she used; I’m not a know-all.

    Liked by 2 people


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