The Mystery

It is a warm night in Adelaide. Le Bon David and The VeloDrone are discussing La Petite Mort, as they walk back to their tent in the parklands.

Le Bon David: That was not quite what I expected.

The VeloDrone: Nor I. What a peculiar sort of woman she was!

Le Bon David: Yes. A protruding tummy and rather short legs.

The VeloDrone: Steady on, David. That's a decription of you!

Le Bon David: I know I am not handsome. But nor do I get about in a flimsy red dress that emphasises all my shortcomings.

The VeloDrone: You must agree she had a pretty face, and sang well.

Le Bon David: Her voice was strong. As to her face, she grimaced and sniffed too much for me.

The VeloDrone: Perhaps she had a cold. Did you notice all those tissues she kept stuffing down her front?

Le Bon David: Yes, and she never blew her nose.

The VeloDrone: A mystery. But then, women are a mystery. Do you not agree?

Le Bon David: I never married, and women have always been a mystery to me. In Paris I was the darling of the salons, but what good did that do me? None. I was never able to grasp the nettle, so to speak.

The VeloDrone: I never married either, although I did grasp a few nettles. As a young man I tried to elope with my dear Pimpette, but was stopped by my father. For fifteen years I lived with Emilie de Breteuil, but she remained married to her marquis. Later, I had an interesting relationship with my niece......

Le Bon David: Oh I don't want to hear about it. Just as I didn't want to hear about those things tonight. Shameless. I shall not be writing a review of La Petite Mort, you may be sure.

The VeloDrone: Neither shall I. Let's forget all about it. How about we stop and pick up an extra large pizza on the way home?

Le Bon David: Oh yes, let's. And Vello...

The VeloDrone: What?

Le Bon David: Thanks for coming with me.