He goes into the next room where he can hear me and I yell out a name from history. He then shapeshifts into the form of the person I call out and returns to where I am.
I use it to sharpen my knowledge of history and expand my intellectual background. It’s purely an educational exercise.
“Next,” he yelled from beyond the doorway.
“Uh,” I said, “how about a young Sophia Loren?”
“Oh … maybe 19 or so.”
I heard a shuffling and in he (she) walked and, oh my goodness.
I couldn’t answer. It was impossible for me to talk. Sophia made a circle around the room while I tried to catch my breath. She smiled at me and paraded out before I could request another circle. From the other room, I heard a sweet voice, articulated by a soft Italian accent. “Mrs. Big Dope had better not catch us playing this game.” There was quick chuckle. “Remember the last time?”
By now, I had found my voice. “That was a different game,” I said.
“It was called ‘Modern Movie and TV Actresses’ and it didn’t qualify as historical education.”
“Oh,” he said. “Who’s next?”
I thought. “Brigitte Bardot,” I said.
There was a silence, then, “What age?”
“How old was she when she made ‘And God Created Woman?’ That should do it.”
“How in the world should I know, darling?” This time the voice had a different accent, maybe French. I couldn’t tell. I wasn’t thinking clearly.
“Say, 21 or 22.”
“Wait a moment,” the voice said.
I dropped my coffee in my lap when she walked in. As I jumped to wipe it up, she giggled. “Your wife will be furious.”
“Just wait a moment,” I said, not able to look back at her for cleaning the mess.
“Oh,” Bridgette said, “here she comes now.” I looked up as she pointed at the window. I spun around, spilling the rest of the coffee. There was no one in sight.
“Ha ha,” she said, turning to leave. “I fooled you.”
Did I mention that she (he) was only wearing a small bikini bottom?”
“Are you sure,” the voice from the next room, “that this game is educational?”
“Quite sure,” I said, wiping the last of the coffee away.
“You earthlings have a strange way of learning things,” a man’s voice sounded. “Did you hear the one about the woman praying for her husband to be cured of cancer?”
“No,” I said.
“A voice comes down from the sky and says, ‘Why hell, I sent you Charles Darwin.’” He laughed long and hard.
It reminded me of the laugh of a James Bond villain. “Jane Seymour,” I yelled, “as Solitaire in ‘Live and Let Die.’”
“Oh I’m sure,” a soft feminine voice said, “that this one is educational.”
“The study of American film is taught at our colleges and universities,” I said, “so …” I didn’t finish for I heard a car driving toward our farmhouse. Oh no. It was the wife and mother in law.
“Wait,” I yelled, “change of plans. The Jane Seymour who was one of the wives of Henry the Eighth.”
“What?” I could hear a lot of scurrying and shuffling about in the next room with the sound of car doors slamming outside. “Married to whom?”
|For some reason that I've never understood,|
Big Dope enjoys my company more
at some times than at others. - C.W.
Seconds later, my wife opened the door as a figure clad in a tight waistcoat and close-fitting breeches that displayed the outlines of a grossly overweight male body, waddled hurriedly from the room.
She regarded the scene. “I’m not even going to ask,” she said.
“It’s an educational game,” I said, “about the Elizabethan era, tailored to teach history.”
“Elizabeth Taylor,” a sexy voice said from next room. “Wait one.”
Keep clicking the ads you see. It costs them money and makes money for me.
See also www.wattensawpress.com
And please check out Big Dope's book.
Post a Comment