Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Say it like you Meme it.

So, according to this game Tart Cider and Calgary Grit have tagged me with, I’m supposed to go to my 23rd blog post, find the fifth sentence ("I can’t help but feel like this work I’m doing is inconsequential and, dare I say it, selfish.") and, in T.C.’s version anyway, write a short piece o’ fiction beginning with that line.

Then, I’m supposed to tag five more bloggers. Those people are Sarah Marchildon, Sean at Said the Gramophone, Pample the Moose, Amy at BITNB, and Anders Yates, who, having no blog, will have to turn to the 23rd page in his writing notebook, take the fifth line, write a new piece and post it in the comments here.

All right, here goes:

Green.

I can’t help but feel like this work I’m doing is inconsequential and, dare I say it, selfish.
You know what? I do dare. I do dare say it. Shush yourself.
So. Here I am, sitting in the bushes as it were, night after night, waiting for you-know-who to sneak out. But a) I know she’s not going to leave the premises, and b) I know it doesn't matter a flying tree-o-saurus even if she did.
Listen: So what if this particular wife whose name shall not be spoken is screwing around with another man or not? The very fact that I'm here proves that the relationship is dead one way or another. My very contract is proof of a loss of trust. And once you lose that trust, well, that’s all there really is to lose. The rest is decoration, procreation, or the silent treatment.
I should really call him up.
No, I might. I might. "Hey, buddy, I’ve got such good evidence your relationship is in dire shape. Hold on, let me pass you over to someone. It’s your relationship on line 2. 'Quack, quack, ouch my leg!' Get it buddy? It's a lame duck, your relationship. Walka walka. Oh, wait, it can’t walk-a cuz it's lame. You got one gimpy marriage, my friend, and you’re the one who gimped it by hiring me."
No, no, I won’t actually call. Yet. I don’t want to lose money and you don’t want to lose money. I’ve got to feed my kids. Those goshdarn baby goats never stop eating! Stupid hobby farm. Why couldn’t I have collected stamps?
Yeah, you’re a bit of jerk too. That’s why we’re here in the proverbial bushes with our lens caps off, ain’t it partner?
I know it's serious. Okay, I'll keep it down.
You’re right, of course. It is mean to take his cash, hide in his hydrangeas and hibiscus, screw him over, and make fun of him. But you should talk.
Really, what other option did I have? If I said no, had turned down the job, he would have gone somewhere else. I know my competition: they’re pretty fierce. Joey T., for instance. There’s no adulterer or adulteree who has escaped his long-range lens and lightening-fast trigger finger. He might not have snapped my face, but he’d certainly get away with a picture of my ass or something and you just know that’s going to end up on the Internet and my mother’s going to find it.
Yeah, it was lucky rich Richard came to me first. Saved my ass, as it were. Ho, ho!
Sigh.
Look, Cathy. It’s been great. It's been a wonderful year. But you’ve got to make a move here. Fun as it is to spend night after night with you in your husband’s beautiful, expensive backyard conservatory, I’m beginning to worry that, you know, I might be throwing stones in a glass house. You know what I'm saying? I can’t help but feel like this work I’m doing is inconsequential and, yes, I do dare say it, selfish. If you don’t tell your husband that we’re sleeping together, I’m going to have to tell him myself. It's my professional duty as a P.I.
Yes, really.
Really. Okay?
Sure, I’ll get that for you. Where did – Ouch!
What the --? Ow! Put that fucking hoe down and –
Agh – Ca--
Grra --

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"Cathy? What’s going on out here? Cathy?"
"There was a man, Richard! There was a man hiding behind the plants!"
"Oh my god."
"I just came out to get some aloe for this scratch and saw him in the shadows. And I just I picked up the hoe… and… and…"
"Oh my god, Cathy. Oh my god. That was... Oh my god."
"Call an ambulance, Richard. It's horrible..."
"Oh my god. Oh my god."
"Richard, call an ambulance! Why aren't you calling an ambulance Richard? What's going on, Richard?"

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