I’m worried about the Gulls

Me: Why are you two looking at me like that?

Nell: You are disturbing an important conversation.

Me: You’re just having a good old chinwag over a half eaten antler.

Nell: I beg your pardon. That happens to be David’s thinking antler. Chewing helps him concentrate. You chew gum and we chew antlers.

Me: I don’t chew gum.

Nell: You know exactly what I mean. We are preparing David’s speech for the wedding. He needs to praise the bridesmaids.

Me: Well, Harriet is easy to praise. Beautiful and clever with an amazing singing voice. Oh, and mysterious of course.

Nell: Mysterious?

Me: Well, she’s a spy.

Nell: We don’t want to broadcast the fact though, do we? Honestly, I despair of you sometimes. I really do.

Me: I suppose we don’t.

Nell: One struggles where to begin with Gladys. Her skills are so varied.

Me: Dave has to mention her dancing.

Nell: Yes and she will be performing during the ceremony. An interpretive dance of love.

Me: Will there be scarves?

Nell: Scarves?

Me: Or feathers? She’ll need something floaty.

Nell: I’ve no idea. I’m worried about the Gulls.

Me: Why don’t you just say Girls like everyone else? Why say it in that posh voice?

Nell: I’m talking about Susan’s Gulls. Her bridesmaids.

Me: You’re doing it again.

Nell: What am I supposed to call them?

Me: They’re awfully quiet for seagulls.

Nell: I know.

Me: Like they wouldn’t say boo to a goose.

Nell: Nobody is booing Malcolm’s Canadian cousins. It’s kind of them to make the long journey over here.

Me: Never mind.

Nell: The Cat has insisted on pink feather headdresses. I’m not sure they’re going to cope. You don’t look at them and think showgirls do you?

Me: Or even showgulls?

Nell: Enough.

Me: Sorry.

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