This week’s words: Rinse Steer Rathole Desuetude (n.)) a state of disuse) Hatpin Decompress Crematorium Spruce Insipid (adj.)) lacking flavor, weak or tasteless, lacking vigor or interest) Stench Debauchery Becoming
Miss Marble who was a witch and who lived at 46 Grimace Street was in no mood for discussing nor considering the debauchery she saw happening around her. Well, maybe not debauchery but certainly behaviour bordering on the despicable.
Her friend and neighbour Mansur Stigglefod had gone home the night before and had put a rinse through her hair as she had complained about the grey and silver beginning to dominate her pate. Now, thought Miss Marble, she had a head not unlike that of a carrot.
In a way Miss Marble felt to a degree responsible as only the day before when they had come home from the crematorium after the funeral of Bert McGroganzez, who lived at 22 Grimace Street, a lovely man who grew amazing blood red roses in his front yard, had Mansur begun wishing her life had not been as it was and that she was in need of a good sprucing up.
It was clear to Miss Marble that the middle age was catching up with Mansur and her immediate thought was to stick a hatpin into her to wake her up to reality.
She decided to steer clear of that thought as she realised Mansur was in need of some decompressing as Miss Marble knew Mansur could at times become quite depressed at the thought of her life descending into a state of desuetude.
Mansur went on about the rathole of a house she lived in, unable to afford to renovate and the stench of dead mice under the floorboards only emphasised her point.
It was all so depressing thought Miss Marble for whom a roof over her head had always been enough. Mansur was sounding and behaving is such an insipid manner that Miss Marble thought it best to give Mansur a sleeping potion, believing a good nights rest might put out of her head all the notions she was having of sprucing herself up.
My goodness thought Miss Marble when Mansur fronted her the next morning. Not only had she coloured her hair with a ginger rinse but she was wearing an orange swimming suit and was holding a drink of some sort in a very unsteady hand. She’d even attempted a tattoo on her thigh, “Still perky and looking” using a permanent marker.
Poor Mansur thought Miss Marble; she’s thoroughly achieved a state of desuetude in the most insipid of ways.
So taken aback was she all she could think to say was: “Cup of tea, Mansur?”