Nothing worse than a stale biscuit
Time Flies
“I heard your dear friend passed,” Mrs. Wealth said casually as she sipped from her tea.
“She was not my dear friend,” Mr. Power answered while he added some milk to his. He licked the baby spoon and snuggled up. “It was just a short acquaintance. Wasn’t she actually your friend?
“She was, in a manner of speaking, but …” Mrs. Wealth put her cup back on the table and grabbed a biscuit. She took a small bite, grabbed the cup again, took another sip, and swallowed. “Let’s say she never felt quite comfortable in my company. It was what you might call an underused friendship.”
“That’s an interesting metaphor,” Mr. Power noted. “I can say the same about ours. Whoever saw us from distance might have thought we were close, but it was just PR. People respected her regardless of my presence. I can’t say I had anything to do with it.”
“That’s fascinating,” Mr. Wealth sighed. She was clever, though. Would you not say?” she added offering the small biscuit platter.
“Absolutely!” Mr. Power said. He took one and gobbled it up. “Intriguing!”
“She was indeed,” said Mrs. Wealth.
“I meant the biscuit,” he said.
“Oh, of course,” she said embarrassingly. “They are hard to come by.”
“Indeed. They don’t last that long, thank goodness. They are dreadful and could do so much harm,” Mr. Power said soaking the biscuit in his tea.
“I was meaning the biscuit,” Mrs. Wealth emphasized.
“Of course. So was I. Nothing worse than a stale biscuit.” They laughed and enjoyed the dwindling summer light.
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