22 April 2006

A Surfeit of Squirrels (3)

Me: Hey! What do you think you’re doing?
Squirrel: Who me?
Me: Yes, you.
Squirrel: Me? Not that blackbird over there?
Me: No, you. Is that blackbird over there wearing my favourite velvet jacket?
Squirrel: I dunno, is he? Oh, no. He isn’t.
Me: That’s right – he isn’t. And that’s because…?
Squirrel: Erm…
Me: Because you…
Squirrel: Because I am?
Me: Yes, because you are wearing my velvet jacket. My jacket. You have stolen my favourite jacket.
Squirrel: Looks good though, isn’t it?
Me: No.
Squirrel: It does.
Me: Doesn’t.
Squirrel: Come on, don’t be like that, Dude. It does.
Me: It doesn’t.
Squirrel: Looks better on me that it does on you.
Me: Doesn’t.
Squirrel: Does too.
Me: Doesn’t.
Squirrel. Makes you look even more like Harry Potter.
Me: I do not look like Harry Potter.
Squirrel: Yeah, you do.
Me: I can’t possibly, I’m a grown woman.
Squirrel: Short dark hair, glasses, gangly, slightly bewildered looking – you well look like him.
Me: I do not look like Harry Potter.
Squirrel: You’ve even got the scar.
Me: (mumble) That’s not a scar.
Squirrel: What?
Me: I said, that’s not a scar.
Squirrel: What is it then?
Me: (mumble) It’s a spot.
Squirrel: A what?
Me: A spot.
Squirrel: A spot? You’re like, what, thirty or something?


Me: I hate you.
Squirrel: Don’t hate the player; hate the game.

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