Suburban Noir

  

   
     It was a dark and stormy night.  He added the lime wedge to the second round of their favorite rum and ginger beer beverage, and turned to his paramour. She accepted it commitally, appearing plussed at his consolate appearance. He was quite mayed at HER appearance, her colleté the only hidden asset in her sleek and clingy gown. 

    “What are you so gruntled about?” she asked chalantly.
    
    “Nothing, nothing at all.  Nothing, certainly, that couldn’t be quashed by a moody girlfriend in a mood."
    
    “Don’t blame me!” she said.  “Your dain is palpable.”
    
    “Oh, I don’t, not at all. I just had higher hopes than a night of bauchery.” 
    She laughed nocently, her nocuous smile not even trying to deceive her pressionable companion.  “You were hoping for pareunia, I gather.  I hate to appoint, so let’s be frank.”
    
    “What, you mean you are sleeping with Frank?”
    
    “Who the hell is Frank??  Is he good in bed, at least?  I do spise that you are so domitable.”
    
    “Well I DEspise that you are so ruthless.”
    
    “What happened to Ruth?” she gasped.
    
    “Wait, who the hell is Ruth?”  he quired.  Her reckful disdain left him underwhelmed.   
    “You are always so couth,” she said, in a cloying, noying southern accent.  “I hate that about you.  You are pareil among men.”
    
    “What about THAT should ever inspire hate?” he asked sensically.
    
    “Always sheveled, always combobulated…You think you are James Bond or somebody. If only you could be more ert.”
   
     “I wish!”
    
    “No, I wish! A little danger, a little surprise is all I dream of. You. are always so feckful, ever provisational.  You are the cause of my chronic somnia.”
    
    “I was hoping to cause acute INsomia this very evening!” he said. "Even when you are moody, I find you quite gusting.  But I can see that I will, alas, be feckLESS this evening.”
    
    “Oh Frank!”
    
    “It’s Bill.” he said, souciantly.
  
    “Ouch, that will leave a bruise!” she said asperatedly.  "I didn’t mean that, Bill.  It just slipped out—Wait, that’s what HE said!”  
    
    He remained ever the gentleman, ruthful, determined, and ruly.  “Well, it is never too late to prepone the obvious.”  He drained his second dark and stormy, made an ept, and even gainly turn on his well-heeled Church’s wingtip, and ruelessly headed for bed.  He was pervious to her verbal darts, but always comfited.  Whether she followed or not,  he would carry on, the utterly effable, corrigible beast that he was, and always had been.