Why not gather together the elder contingent (note the present author’s discretion – he did not write ‘old’) of ladies, and hold something just for them? The threshold was set at the quarter century, and only those who had lived for long enough were entitled to attend the elite synaxis.
And so it was that on Friday last the sitting room was turned into an all-female parlour for a culinary extravaganza.
The teasing of the men had begun during the afternoon, with one of the ladies dancing past some of them, a little glint in her eye, singing ‘If I only had a womb.’ Oh yes, madam, enjoy it while it lasts.
Meanwhile, the remnant of younger woman sat downstairs wondering what all the excitement was up above.
(Aerobics for the Elderly)
The feast began with Colon’s Nachos, Fernandes’ Pineapple in Grated Chocolate, Piquer Sebastia's Chicken, Sandford’s Fish Stew, and Iannino’s Tiramisu. Much laughter and excitement was encouraged by the strength of Prele’s Punch (and boy, did it punch!), and a wonderful time had by all.
(Don’t they look happy? They’ve hidden their walking frames behind the sofa).
There were rumours of games being played, including the dreaded Twister. Someone had very helpfully provided a guide to hip replacements, just in case.
All was well until it was noticed that some complete cad had placed notices at the entrance to the room.
What kind of scamp, what terrible bounder, could do such a thing? The multitude of Marples set to work and, in no time at all, apprehended the culprit, bang-to-rights, and had him surrounded.