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A Scrap of Purple Paper

"Is it possible to have a word with..." the middle aged lady unfolded a scrap of purple paper and cast her eyes along it "Miss Victoria."

"I am afraid she's busy at the moment."

"I can wait," the lady said placing a copy of the Daily Mail on the plush purple chair before sitting down on it then pulling out a copy of Homes and Gardens. It was a struggle to read in the subdued lighting but an article on a retired sixties dancer's barn conversion and a half page on the renaissance of Victorian vegetable varieties later, a voice disturbed the seated Mrs Auborn Taylor.

"I am Miss Victoria, can I help?"

Mrs Auborn Taylor rose and extended a hand. "Delighted to meet you," her voice lowered "I have a slight problem," she subtly passed her hand over her groin.

"I am not convinced I can help," said Miss Victoria "I am sorry I didn't catch your name?"

"Mrs Auborn Taylor."

"Oh," said Miss Victoria her face looked a little ashen "Oh," she repeated. Then her face regained some colour.

"I don't mean to appear rude Mrs Auborn Taylor. But your husband says you haven't come near him for about the last 15 years."

Mrs Auborn Taylor bristled somewhat, flicked some dust off her skirt and curtly said,

"Quite so. Who said I was here about my husband?"

Story by:

D Jones

submitted at 9:10pm

28 April 2011

D Jones's web:

www.molethepoet.com