David Called

David called. “Darling, would you say I have an incredible body?”

“I do believe that is how some people have referred to it,” I say. “But they normally add ‘proportions’ to the end of that sentence.”

“Oh, I know, it is sad.”

“What can I say?”

“Another one who has ballooooned, darling.”

“Yes, well, we’re getting old old old old old.”

“I get on my back with my legs in the air and take photos just to see what they are seeing.”

I laugh. “Dear god (do you like how I use that expression ironically?) I hope you attach trigger warnings to those photos when you are done?”

“Nobody is going to want to fuck grannies’ pussy, darling.”

“Oh, that is wrong on so many levels.”

“It’s just that I got a shock when I looked in the mirror this morning.”

“I’ve told you not to look in the mirror, not now.”

“The trouble is my mirror goes from floor to ceiling.”

“And coast to coast, no doubt,” I say.

We both laugh.

“Anyway, I have to get to and finish my new brochure,” David says. “Kill me now.” (He hates, what he calls, admin work)

“The sycophants won’t sign up on their own,” I say.

David laughs. “Actually, they will.”

“Anyway, I have to get back to work too,” I say.

“Yes, I know, I can hear it in the tone in your voice.”

“It’s only three days a week.”

“Licking salt…”

“Licking the salt from the salt mine walls.”

“I have no idea why you are still working,” says David. “Crunching numbers for other people?”

"Making money for rich old men who probably have more than they will ever need."

"Yes, making money for the rich?"

“Oh, you know,” I say. I wish I was brave enough just to throw it all in and spend my days writing, fuck the consequences, I think.

“I have no idea why I am still working so hard, to tell you the truth,” says David. Because he loves the sycophant’s adulation. I don’t say it, but he’d probably agree.

“Someone has to attend to the spiritual needs of the bereft and the needy?” Someone has to prepare the coolaid.

“So, what is your excuse?” asks David.

“It keeps my bank balance topped up and I don’t have to spend any savings.”

“Oh, savings smavings,” sounding exasperated, “Who are you saving for?”

“Me… I guess.”

“You could be sitting around writing stories and doing puzzles, like me,” he laughs. “And enjoying your life,” he says. “When are you going to write? Huh? When? If not now.”

“Life, huh?”

“Oh yes, life.”

“You can’t get out of its way long enough to do the things you really enjoy.”

“But you can…”

“Blanch,” I say.

“You can. You just have to do it.”

“I guess.”

“Life won’t do itself.”

“Think it, do it.”

“Think it, do it.”