Elaine Arbery - Grand

Why is a grand grand?

It’s a grand night for singing. The moon is riding high...

Such an old-fashioned term.

It’s grand became it’s cool… it’s sick… or even fully sick.

How is sick grand?

How is it hot to be cool?

A door slams and laughter erupts from this side of the door.

“Are you soliloquising again? Surely, you’ve got better things to do? Than lecture the dog on the vagaries of language?”

“She’s begging for food… as usual… an hour before dinner time. I was teaching her to read a clock. I told her that she has to wait for the big hand to reach the 12 and the small hand to reach the 4.”

“Sounds like procrastinating to me. What task are you trying to put off, knowing you can’t avoid it? Mmm this chocolate is just what I needed. Want some?”

“Okay. A little piece.”

He breaks a piece from the chocolate. Examines it. Breaks it again. Finally, he hands me a piece that is dwarfed by my little fingernail.

I reach for it. He dances around me, keeping the microscopic fragment of dark brown heaven tantalisingly close-yet-far.

“I’ll just get my own then.”

He licks the gooey warm spot form his finger and hands me a piece of chocolate that doesn’t need a Petrie dish to be safely handled and viewed.

I reach over and grab the rest of the chocolate bar from his unsuspecting other hand.

Too late to avoid my manoeuvre, he tries to arm-wrestle me. I pivot my body, slip from his grasp and put the chocolate bar on the counter. To make a point.

Our eyes are dancing. Our breath is punctuated by uncontrolled laughter. The dog is running to and fro, under our feet, between our legs, her body wagged by her tail, joining in the fun and games.