Now, there's an unspoken rule among we small people that we acknowledge each other in passing. That’s fine. I’m a person of a perky demeanour and I’m always happy to talk to a stranger. However, we midgets can be terribly snooty. Generally, the smaller the midget, the higher they are in our social order. This midget was nearly four inches taller than me and they would not look my way.
He was standing on the other side of the road but I know he’s spotted me. At first, I had only meant to nod or smile, but then I tried to wave. He still wouldn’t acknowledge me. In the end, I ran across the road. He saw me coming and ran off. There we were, the two of us, running down a street near Covent Garden.
I never caught him. Damn these tall midgets for their long legs. It’s put me in a terrible mood. The taxi will soon be here. I’m in Lewisham this evening with one of my regulars. She cooks superbly and knows how to treat a midget well. Unfortunately, she’s another with a food fetish. Tomorrow, if I’m walking funny and smell of grapefruit, you’ll know why.
1 comment:
Post again, you bastard. You're hilarious! No more silence.
Post!
Post now!
Post often!
Post, or I'll go round to your mum's house and give her something she can hang her washing off.
Post a Comment