What a ridiculous idea

Nell: I don’t know what the world is coming to?

Me: What’s wrong?

Nell: I do not expect my Sunday newspapers to be delivered by a wolf in knitted pyjamas.

Me: Yes. Malcolm was a little taken aback when he saw him through the kitchen window. He was making scrambled eggs at the time.

Nell: Why on earth was he doing that?

Me: Well, he is the Sous Chef, Nell, and Poppy’s gone jogging with Gladys.

Nell: No. Knitwear Wolf. Why is he delivering newspapers?

Me: Everyone needs to make a living, Nell. It’s probably a holiday job.

Nell: But you can’t just waltz around in pyjamas. Knitted, or not. It simply won’t do.

Me: Sundays are pyjama days for me, too. If I don’t have to go anywhere it’s lovely to lounge around.

Nell: You’re still not well, so pyjamas are allowed.

Me: I wonder if Malcolm noticed the quality of the wool.

Nell: I doubt it. Wolves and flamingos aren’t traditionally close so I think Malcolm kept his distance.

Me: Timothy nearly had a heart attack.

Nell: Turkeys are easily startled.

Me: By the way, Malcolm says we are out of bacon, so it’s smoked salmon with scrambled eggs for breakfast and wholemeal toast.

Nell: What happened to the bacon?

Me: David ate it by mistake. What are the plans for later?

Nell: A walk by the sea. Poppy is cooking roast beef and Yorkshire puddings for our Canadian visitors later.

Me: A meal like that is meant to be shared, isn’t it?

Nell: Of course.

Me: Might there be room for one more?

Nell: Why?

Me: Roaming the countryside in knitted pyjamas can’t be much fun.

Nell: You are not inviting Knitware Wolf to dinner. Lonely, or not. It’s a ridiculous idea.

Me: You are right. Sorry.

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