Friday, December 20, 2013

Christmas Bash

“It's one thing to host a Christmas party,” said Harold, folding his fingers into his lapels, “but it's quite another to expect it to be the talk of the town.”

The mayoress sniffed, as if Harold had stepped in something decomposing on the way in. “We can't all be as extravagant as you, Mr Waterman.” She managed to make 'extravagant' a simile for 'brash.' “Some of us are constrained by budgets.”

“As am I, Mrs Morehouse, but one has to do one's best, no? Where would we be if we allowed the voters to decide our spending allowance, eh?” He chuckled. “Oh, I'm sorry. That's what you meant by a budget, isn't it.”

“At least we have the very best chefs on hand.” Mrs Morehouse sniffed again and Harold wondered if she was developing a cold. “We may not be able to throw money at the buffet but we can rest easy knowing the Conservative Association is the apex of culinary artistry and taste.”

“Only if it's bad taste you're looking for.” He gestured to the buffet table, where a large sculpture provided the centrepiece.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, take your ice sculpture of Mary...”

“What's wrong with it? I was given to understand that Mary is a central figure in Christmas festivities.”

“The virgin Mary, yes.” Harold closed his eyes and counted to three. “Your artist, however, has chosen Mary Magdalene and depicted her hard at work.”

“Is that so bad?”

“She was a prostitute.”

No comments: