“Maybe We Should Let Him Put His Pants On”
“Ch-ch-ch, ch-ch-ch.”- inside planets with inhospitable surfaces
- the perfect setting for romance
- despair or cunning calculation
- her husband’s dangerous career
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“Maybe we should let him put his pants on,” Fernando said.
“Hmm,” Betsy Murgatroid responded while staring at me and tapping her chin with a pale finger, making me queasy. A venomous grin stretched her cheeks. She leaned toward me and curled back her lips to say, “Ch-ch-ch, ch-ch-ch.”
The insectoid noise unsettled me. It tickled the underbellies of memories I hadn’t known I had, swollen swirls of dread like blobs of fluid inside planets with inhospitable surfaces and worse interiors. By the gleam in her eyes, I gathered she intended it as flirting, as if this dusty subbasement were the perfect setting for romance, and not a venue that demanded despair or cunning calculation of a means of escape.
Fernando had wandered to the steps, peering up toward the root cellar.
“Stay out of there,” Betsy lilted, never taking her eyes off of me. “I don’t want to have to tell your wife she was right about her husband’s dangerous career.” Fernando shuffled away from the stairs, making an obvious effort to find something other than my pantslessness to occupy his attention.
bonus points for using them in order