Word Count : Totally 100
Disclaimer : Would love to lie and say they're mine!
WHAT NOT TO DO IN POLITE COMPANY
Sat in a ridiculously sloppy sofa, Dean wriggled and gyrated, attempting to extricate himself.
"Sammy…help…damn sofa's swallowing me ass first!"
Their host's return curtailed any reply.
"Here we are…...tea and Frangipane."
Dean looked confused, before quickly switching to polite smile mode, accepting the fragile
china cup and tiny little tart. Sam prompted their host,
"So…your wife disappeared whilst you visited the bathroom?"
Teary eyed, the man nodded.
"Yes. Poor Kickywicky. Poof…and gone. See? Her teeth are still on the table by your friend.
Soft pink cushions, bone china, frangipane, Kickywicky's and false teeth…it was too much.
Dean began retching conspicuously.
A.N. "Kickywicky" A Shakespearian word intended as a term of endearment in relation
to one's wife. However, the word didn't catch on. Can't think why! ; )
Also, I'm now finally on the home run with my new fic, "The Way of The Dead"