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Myfanwy supped her tea from her saucer, just like Auntie had before death claimed her, like some debt collector thinking she owed him. Tea warm and dark and sweet, just how she liked her men, Auntie used to say, and laughed until she nigh wet herself. Myfanwy stared at the photograph of Auntie in black and white and laughed. Funny old biddy; pipe smoker, gin drinker, man eater, unmarried or divorced, she'd not say, better, she'd said, that way. She gulped the last of the tea and put the saucer down on the table, and lit up a cigarette and sat smoking. Jones the Bones, her useless boyfriend (for want of a better term) had asked her out on a love date (he'd said dyddiad cariad). She had said: I'll think about it, see how I feel after Chapel and Dai Thomas's sermon. Jones had'n't been impressed. Wanted his end away, I expect, Myfanwy mused, watching the smoke cloud out Auntie's features in the frame. Not that she minded mind, but he seemed to expect it like a dog a walk after a meal. She scratched her thigh; that last time in his rather dilapidated room and that single bed, had not left her thoughts or her gin soaked head.
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Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 7:02 AM UTC
MYFANWY'S DATE 1959.
Myfanwy supped her tea from her saucer, just like Auntie had before death claimed her, like some debt collector thinking she owed him. Tea warm and dark and sweet, just how she liked her men, Auntie used to say, and laughed until she nigh wet herself. Myfanwy stared at the photograph of Auntie in black and white and laughed. Funny old biddy; pipe smoker, gin drinker, man eater, unmarried or divorced, she'd not say, better, she'd said, that way. She gulped the last of the tea and put the saucer down on the table, and lit up a cigarette and sat smoking. Jones the Bones, her useless boyfriend (for want of a better term) had asked her out on a love date (he'd said dyddiad cariad). She had said: I'll think about it, see how I feel after Chapel and Dai Thomas's sermon. Jones had'n't been impressed. Wanted his end away, I expect, Myfanwy mused, watching the smoke cloud out Auntie's features in the frame. Not that she minded mind, but he seemed to expect it like a dog a walk after a meal. She scratched her thigh; that last time in his rather dilapidated room and that single bed, had not left her thoughts or her gin soaked head.
TerryCollett
Written by
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 7:02 AM UTC
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