In my job an entrance is everything

According to my Rodger the 'Scott Fitzgerald' of Ardrishaig an entrance is only as good as one's exit; and my exits according to him, needs a little work.

‘Work’ I said ‘on my exit?’

‘Yes.’ he said. ‘Your exits lack a certain sincerity, they smack of hesitantancy; unbecoming of a woman of your statue.’

‘There is nothing wrong with my statues ‘I shouted from the kitchen, 'they are as perky as Posh Spices OVERIES!.’ I was making a cappuccino at the time and for the first time ever I felt like doing something to his froth apart from sprinkling cinnamon on it..

You should leave with you fanny shouting 'maximus oh screwius’ he adds. At the time he was sitting perched over his laptop like a small gremlin watching Nigel Lawson whipping cream for her French cones.

My Rodger has taken to speaking like how he thinks an intellectual American would. The fact that he sounds like a dyslexic Latin student who refers to 'fanny' like someone out of dubbed porn film completely passes him by and is a habit that often gets him into trouble.

'Rodger' I says 'telling a woman to shift her fanny when she picking her weekly veg from the coop is bound to lead to more than a clash of trolleys'. But does he listen (sigh!) My Rodger is as deaf as my chandler is still...all he can think about is his novel.

So here is my Rodger’s novel extract for you to peruse at you leisure; tell me what you think; is my Rodger sooo talented as a writer that he can use fanny at will?

Missionary Impossible
(A novel after my heart sigh!)

A thought provoking epilogue
by himself

With secret handshakes the Paramours greet each other…they live for the night when they can fanny around in the dark and women on the whole are more amicable.


CHAPTER ONE
(1950)
On a hot afternoon, while huddled behind a hedge, Legless caught a glimpse of a woman in an apron. He watched as she bent over a basket of washing and was overcome. Surprised at his lust, he decided to take action; an action which had not been spoken about for centuries in his world.
Thirty seconds later he slipped away…
The woman felt something peculiar, a small flutter but nothing too drastic; nothing a little Epsom’s salts wouldn’t cure. Nine months later a Paramour was born…
That year the sales of Epsom’s salts soared as women all over the world while bending over their washing felt something peculiar …
****


(Jimmie’s Arabic Tea Shop)
(Just now)
Two Paramours sat crossed legged on a raised floor passing a water pipe from one to the other. Just in front off them were two women, one consoling the other. Madge’s heart was broken and Yvonne, a young woman with spirit, was doing her best to mend it and getting nowhere.
‘It’s the same every year you always fall for the lead in the panto,’ said Yvonne.
Madge let out a sigh. ‘He’s so hot in those legging. Oh Yvonne, he’s the dog’s bullocks.’
Hamish the largest and hairiest of the two Paramours inhaled the strawberry tobacco, flared his nostrils and blew a smoke ring; it floated across to Madge and dissolved onto her jumper. Hamish caught her eye. Madge blinked, smiled and then looked away, unaware of what had just happened, unaware that later on that night she would return to the teashop and discover a pleasure never experienced before and the male lead in leggings would not even be a memory.
Mustard watched with a seen it all expression. ‘We have important things to discuss,’ he said.
‘Aye,’ muttered Hamish with his eye still on Madge.
‘It’s no ordinary meeting tonight.’ Mustard continued. ‘There’s a speaker.’
‘Hmmm.’
‘Rebel, from the south, they say he’s big in the Midlands.’
‘BIG; in the Midland?’ Hamish sniggered; any mention of size had most young Paramours sniggering.
‘He says he met the great Legless himself!’
‘Aye right and I’m a Jehovah’s witness’

****

(On Planet Hy-man)
Maxim pulled out the remote and pressed stop. The screen flickered, crackled then slowly folded into a box. The committee sighed, watching Mustard and Hamish smoke a water pipe was not their idea of fun.
‘Thank god that’s over,’ muttered one member.
Maxim heard but chose to ignore.
‘I told you he would turn up’ said Maxim ‘but did anyone listen?’ Maxim paused for effect. ‘If this gets out, then the proverbial will really hit the fan.’ He waited for a response with his best steely stare. When none came he continued. ‘There is only one thing for it’.
The members exchanged looks.
‘We must scan this planet earth and attempt some sort of control; we shall send down the best we have.’ He waited with his best dramatic stance. ‘We need the best…and the most discreet,’ (still no response) ‘we need… ’
‘She that is the pain in the butt…’ someone finally muttered.
‘She of the Iron Gusett!’
Some of the committee began to chuckle. Maxim sucked in his breath.
‘You know what to do’ he barked at a footman. The footman stretched, stifled a yawn and wandered out the door.
‘Sir is this really necessary?’ said Offal one of the more important porters.
‘I mean earth is so not now!’ piped a young voice from the back.
‘Look’ snapped Maxim ‘This Rebel is trouble he has the curiosity of a cat, the body odour of a camel and…’
‘And the eyesight off a mole,’ said the young voice from the back.
The committee continued to chuckle. Maxim sighed and looked out off the window. Some days he wondered if it was it all worth it.
‘He is half human. What’s there to worry bout!’
‘But LEGLESS isn’t’ snapped Maxim.
The committee fell silent. To mention Legless at a conference was like an actor mentioning Macbeth back stage.