2153. Crumpet

(For starters – a footnote: apparently not every version of English carries the same insinuations for words and phrases used in this story so things could be relatively meaningless to a goodly number of readers??)

All I did at breakfast was to ask Freda if she wanted toast or crumpet.

“I want crumpet. What do you want?”

She took offence.

By crumpet I meant the cake with a soft, porous texture, made from a yeast mixture cooked on a griddle and eaten toasted and buttered. She took it to infer that by crumpet I meant her to be an object of sexual desire.

“Look,” I said trying to explain. “I was trying to be kind and you took it the wrong way. I wasn’t trying to butter you up.”

“There you go again,” expostulated Freda. “Can’t you treat me as a human being? Covering me in butter and devouring me like some sort of cheap slice.”

“It’s toast then,” I said. “How would you like your eggs done?”

“Oh for goodness sake, I should never have stayed the night. To discuss my ovaries first thing in the morning is beyond belief. I’m leaving. I’m tired of your insinuations.”

She left. The moral of this tale is never have the editor of a dictionary stay over for breakfast.

2036. A systemically insensitive Western

(The opening sentence for this story was suggested by Nitin from India whom I would like to thank for giving me this impossible starter. If you want to join in the fun of suggesting a future opening sentence for these stories, please leave your suggestion in the comments – only one suggestion per person!)

A trumpet, a crumpet and a horse walked into a bar.

“I don’t want to blow my own trumpet,” said the horse, “but I think my presence adds a touch of class to this bar.”

“That’s fascinating,” said the trumpet. “I hope they serve food. I could eat a horse.”

“It’s nice to get out of the cold,” said the crumpet. “It’s as warm as toast in here.”

This rather inane conversation continued. They ordered drinks and then several more.

Suddenly a systemically ethnocentric pink highwayman cowboy entered the bar flashing his pistol. “Hands up!” he shouted. “This is a holdup! Hands up!”

The trumpet, the crumpet, and the horse stared at one another in disbelief.

“Yet another systemically ethnocentric pink highwayman cowboy,” declared the horse. “Don’t you get sick of everyone thinking all drunks in a bar are the same? We’re not clocks. We don’t have hands.”

“Let’s gallop out of here,” said the trumpet. There were overtones of despicableness in his voice.

They began to trot out despite the dangerous pistol being pointed. The crumpet tarried. To be honest she was rather attracted to the systemically ethnocentric pink highwayman cowboy. In fact, it is possible the charms of the crumpet saved everyone in the bar from getting shot.

“Thank you, Crumpet!” everyone shouted (except for one German visitor who shouted out “Danke schön, Crumpet”, and a systemically ethnocentric aquamarine silicon valley CEO who shouted “Nothing beats a bit of crumpet”).

Outside, the trumpet commented that he thought the crumpet had hit the right note. He leapt onto the horse, and together they cantered off into the sunset.