Larry and Mick and the Aardvarks

 

“Get you’re coat, you’ve pulled,” said Larry.

 

“Say what?,” said Mick.

 

“You’ve pulled a thread on your cardigan, so you should not wear said vestment on this occasion, lest it doth unravel further.”

 

“Don’t say ‘doth’.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Larry and Mick were going out. And it was a bit nippy. They were thus selecting warm attire for their sojourn.

 

“By ‘eck, it’s more nippy than I thought,” said Mick, as he stepped out of the front door.

 

“Why are you saying ‘by ‘eck’?,” said Larry. “You aren’t from the north.”

 

“I am from the north.”

 

“How did I not know this?”

 

“You don’t know everything about me.”

 

“I never noticed your accent.”

 

“My accent doth change like autumn leaves, the shape of clouds and the plot of Coronation Street.”

 

“You don’t watch Coronation Street.”

 

“Like I said, you don’t know everything about me.”

 

Larry gave Mick a look.

 

Mick enigmatically smiled, like unto a certain work of art which isn’t as good as everyone makes out.

 

“And stop ‘doth’ing,” said Larry.

 

“You can talk,” said Mick.

 

“Y’what?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

Larry and Mick went out.

 

...

 

The outness of their going seemed, at first, conventional and rendered not in dramatic or notable hues. That is to say, nothing much happened. Until...

 

“I feel the gravity of our situation has somewhat increased,” said Larry.

 

“Why say ye so?,” said Mick.

 

“My feet feel all heavy like.”

 

Mick looked at Larry’s legular appendages. They looked as they had always looked. Except for the aardvarks clinging to such.

 

“You appear to have aardvarks clinging to your legular appendages,” said Mick.

 

“To my what?,” said Larry.

 

“Your feet.”

 

“Legular isn’t a word.”

 

“It is so.”

 

“Isn’t.”

 

“Is.”

 

“Isn’t.”

 

“Is.”

 

“Isn’t.”

 

“Is.”

 

“Anyway...” said Larry.

 

“Look...” said Mick.

 

“Crikey,” said Larry.

 

“Where?,” said Mick.

 

“Where what?,” said Larry.

 

“My good friend, Crikey O’Rikey, from the Emerald Isle,” said Mick. “Is he here?”

 

“You’ve never told me about your good friend Crikey O’Rikey.”

 

“Like I said, you don’t know everything about me.”

 

“I’m beginning to wonder what I do know about you.”

 

There was a pause that some might describe as ‘pregnant.’

 

“Anyway, back to the aardvarks,” said Mick.

 

“Oh yes,” said Larry. “Gaaaaargh!”

 

“It is most uncommon to find aardvarks at this time of year,” said Mick.

 

“I am less concerned with their seasonal occurrence,” said Larry; “and more with the fact that they are clinging to my feet!”

 

“That is of some concern,” said Mick.

 

“No shit!,” said Larry.

 

“That is a most un-Larry-like thing to say!”

 

“You don’t know everything about-”

 

“Shush, I’m trying to think.”

 

“About what?”

 

“What we’re having for tea tonight.”

 

“Well I was thinking pickled falafel and-”

 

“About the aardvarks!”

 

“Oh yes... Gaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!!”

 

“‘Gaaaaaaaaaaaaargh’ indeed. But soft, I think I have a solution.”

 

“A solution to the pollution?”

 

Mick sighed and knocked the aardvarks off Larry’s feet with a nobbly stick.

 

...

 

Later at the municipal swimming pool…

 

“‘Soft’?,” said Larry.

 

“Soft what?,” said Mick.

 

“You said, ‘But soft, I think-’… oh bugger it.”

 

Larry got out of the pool and went for a wee.

 

[ fin ]