Anniversary

A Story by Woody

a shocking discovery... revelations.

“Come on, Mildred!” shouted George irritably from the living room, “for God’s sake, I’ve been waiting for the best part of an hour!”

“Comiiiing!” shouted Mildred back from the bedroom.

He was sitting on the sofa, facing the TV.

George was short, on the dark side, eightyish, froglike with a wisp of snow white hair and sad drooping eyes, behind black-rimmed glasses. He hated waiting for his wife. Don’t we all? Today, he was taking his wife to a restaurant to celebrate their fiftieth wedding anniversary.

He picked up the remote and started flipping through the channels. ISIS killed 21 Christians in Libya. Boko Haram kidnapped 43 little girls in Nigeria. Car bomb in Irak. France, Australia, Denmark. “God Almighty!” muttered George, “what’s the world coming to?” He flicked the TV off and was about to call again when Mildred swept down thw staircase. His breath caught in his throat.

“Oh,Milly, you’re stunning,” he breathed.

“Oh, come off it, old man!” said Mildred coyly and spun around in her red dress. The Woman in Red! In spite of the wrinkles, the white hair at the temples and the slightly stooped stance, Mildred still retained a lot of her beauty. Her twinkling blue eyes, her upturned nose, her radiant smile and high cheek bones would snag the attention of any man, though she’s well past her seventieth birthday.

“You’re good enough to eat,” stated George, “I’ve a mind to take you straight to the bedroom and forego the meal.”

“Not on your nelly, old timer!” snapped Mildred in a mock-stern tone, “been looking forward to this meal for the past coupla weeks. Besides,” she added with a smile, “I’m not quite sure of the outcome, at your age.”

George pretended to be hurt.

“Have I ever let you down?”

“Only a dozen times in the past six months.”

“That’s unfair…”

“Only kidding, honey. You’re the best. Now, let me take a look at you. Oh God, look at this tie, George! drooping like your shrivelled.. uhm."

"Milly, you can be wicked and mean, at times!"

"George! You're not cross, are you? You know I like to tease you. And you know perfectly well that I love your Jade plant," said Mildred with a smile.

"Oh! I thought you meant.."

"Don't be silly! Now, let me fix this. There! Now you look as dashing as the day you asked me to marry you and fainted when I said yes.”

When they left the house, Mildred threaded her arm through George’s and they set off on foot towards the “Silver Platter,” one of the trendiest restaurants in town.

The sun was shining brightly though there was a nip in the air. People of all ages were in the street. Many out on their lunch break. Some children with schoolbags on their backs going home (the children, not the schoolbags, naturally), chatting and laughing. A street artist with a ponytail and a moustache very much like that of Dali. Overkill. He offered to do their portrait but they declined politely.

They walked past a shwarma stand, saw customers waiting eagerly as the man behind the makeshift counter shaved juicy slices from a spinning, fat-topped cone of spiced lamb. The aroma of the meat wafted their way and George felt his mouth water.

George and Mildred arrived at the “Silver Platter”. The door was wide open, leading to the dim dining area, backed by a curtain of wooden beads. Parting the beads, they walked in. they were greeted by a smiling youth in a black tailcoat and bowtie.

“Welcome to the Silver Platter, Madam. Sir.”

“Thank you,” said Mildred with a smile.

“Have you booked, Sir?”

“Yes. Name’s George Armani. And, no, no relation to George Bush.”

Not getting the joke or possibly finding it lame, the waiter checked his list and replied:

“Ah yes. Mr Armani. Please come this way.”

George took his wife’s elbow and followed the waiter. Once seated, they ordered their drinks. Champagne, of course.

While waiting, George took his wife’s hands across the table and looked her in the eye.

“God, I love you to bits, Milly.”

“I know, honey and I love you, too. I hope I won't jinx us but how is it possible that a love can last so long?”

“AAH but you forget what my job was before I retired.”

“Archeologist? What’s that got to do with the price of fish?”

The waiter came back with their drinks and George waited for him to depart before answering:

“Honey, an archeologist is the best man a woman can wish to marry. The older his wife gets, the more he’s interested in her.”

“Very funny, silly boy,” said Mildred, chuckling. “can’t you be serious for five minutes?”

“Can’t help it, darling. That’s the way my maker has made me.”

“Huh! God has nothing to do with it,” scoffed Mildred.

“God? No, I meant, Woody.”

“Woody? Who the hell is that?”

“My, OUR maker.”

“What are you talking about, silly man?” asked Mildred with a raised eyebrow.

“Sweetie, I’ve been meaning to tell you this for days. I’ve only put it together recently.”

Mildred looked at him unblinkingly: “George, you’re freaking me out. Is this another of your silly jokes?”

“No, Mil, I promise. Do you think we’re real people?”

“What kind of a question is this? Of course we are real people.”

“No, we’re not. Sorry.”

“Ready to order, folks?” asked the waiter by their side.

“Jesus, Christ!” exclaimed Mildred, nearly jumping out of her skin. “Don’t you come sneaking up on me like that young man!”

“I’m so sorry, Madam,” replied the young man, contrite.

“Give us a minute, please,” said George.

He turned to his wife and said: “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, honey.”

“Upset? I’m shocked. My husband has taking leave of his senses.”

“Honey, I’m not mad, believe me! We are characters in a story. Woody created us. That’s what he does when he's not... frolicking or whatever he does.”

“Jesus! Or I should say ‘Woody’, from now on.”

“Listen, this shouldn’t spoil our anniversary. At least I hope Woody wouldn’t get a stupid idea and end the story with one of his sick twists.”

“let’s order!”

“Yeah, let’s eat. I’ll explain later how I found out. I’ll tell you about this site I stumbled upon on the net. Writerscafe.”

The waiter had brought their meals and George dived in immediately. Mildred sat watching him eat while musing on what she’d learned. The young waiter noticed she wasn’t eating and came to enquire if there was a problem.

“Something wrong with your food, Madam?”

“Oh no, the food’s fine. I’m just waiting for the punchline to this story and hoping I don’t starve to death before Woody thinks one up."

"Woody?" asked the waiter, puzzled. "Who’s Woody?"

"Your creator. For Woody’s sake! Did you think you were a real person?"

© 2016 Woody

Author's Note

longer than the usual short ones and possibly not so funny. we'll see. I hope you like it.

My Review

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Featured Review

Norman 223

What d'you mean, not funny. Its brilliant!! Real humour often has has a serious element behind it.You introduces tenderness , familiarity, and even misunderstanding which culminated in the whacky and totally unexpected ending.
Great to see you back again. missed your offbeat humour .
Norman

Posted 7 Years Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

7 Years Ago

aah Norm I keep promising to come back for good. my life is in a bit of a shambles for the moment.read more

Reviews

Ted Kniffen

Aha! All these years of digging for the truth and it was here at the Café. Woody is the creator, all hail Woody. Well done, Woody. There are a few grammatical issues but nothing that hinders the story. A great idea and a good write.