How are you feeling?
Like a fool. Betrayed - again. I believe his promises, hung on his every word, and where has it left me? Alone, that's where.
What are you on about?
For years he's been saying it. "We'll be together soon, my darling. Be patient. I'll cease this game-playing and come to you, slump in your embrace, rest my feet on your matching ottoman and we will be together as one. Forever." Poppycock. My cushions have been fluffed up and ready for years now, and where is he? Still carrying on like a young whippersnapper, that's where.
But surely he's only got one more week in him? (NO - TWO!)
Yeah, yeah, sure. Heard it all before. "Don't go anywhere, I'm just about done." Winter turns to summer, back to winter again, and I'm left sitting here, as cold as his heart. It's like he enjoys seeing me suffer.
You'd think someone of his age would be ready for an afternoon doze. People have started to talk, haven't they?
You mean Matthew Scarlett? The boy was only speaking the truth. What bit of "you're old and slow" wouldn't stand up in court?
He did seem awfully upset though...
Good - maybe now he knows how it feels.
Sounds like you might have had enough?
Well it's not like I don't get other offers. That strange Peter Everitt was sniffing around on Friday night, and only the week before I was hounded by a Bassett. Not too keen on dogs, though - all of that shedding. Would never happen with my Robert - not a single follicle has moved in 20 years.
"My Robert"?
Sorry, force of habit. Must maintain the rage. I won't be here forever, you know. If he ever does retire, he might just come home and find nothing to greet him but a cold, hard floor.
