Ms Prim and Ms Proper......buy a time share

 Ms Prim and Proper were relaxing in their conservatory. Proper had her feet up, a cup of strong Darjeeling in her hand and was engrossed in a riveting episode of “Murder She Wrote.” Prim was staring at the rivulets of rain that ran down the glass and surrounded by the voile curtains she imagined herself in a harem ripe for ravaging. Of course, she didn’t share her thoughts with Proper who’d be thoroughly disgusted but Prim, in another life, would have been quite improper!

 

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and Prim leapt up a  too energetically. Oh dear, thoughts of ravagement made her jumpy.

 

Prim opened the door to be confronted by a tall man in a pin stripe suit, a trilby and carrying a briefcase.

 

“I’m a salesman with something to sell to beautiful women,” he said with a gentle smile.

 

Prim gasped. He had the same stature and features as the man who she’d imagined ravaging her.

 

“Um…oh….I….” mumbled Prim, all of a fluster.

 

Proper was behind her, wondering who was disturbing her finding out the identity of the murderer of the drag queen.

 

“Who are you here to see?” she asked, wondering if Prim had given their address to some waif or stray. Prim was soft headed and could never say no.

 

“I’m here to see two beautiful ladies with exquisite taste and brilliance,” he said, beaming. His teeth were even and positively gleaming and Proper could never resist a man with good dental work.

 

“Er..come in,” she said, ushering him into the living room.

 

Proper glanced at herself in the mirror and primped her hair.

 

Prim gawped at Proper, she was preening herself oh so properly!

 

“So what can you do for us?” asked Proper looking into his eyes that were a piercing blue and admiring his chiselled jaw line.

 

Prim had noticed that Proper fawning over the handsome stranger. He was quite heart-stoppingly gorgeous with dark hair, wide shoulders, washboard abs (she surmised) and warm and friendly eyes.

 

“I’m the Imagination salesman,” he said in a husky voice,” I sell ideas and if you  buy I’ll give you something to make your eyes sparkle, your heart throb and your body sing.”

 Mses Prim and Proper were all ears though Proper was a  sceptical.

 

“And does this cost a lot of money?” she asked.

 

Prim was getting a touch irritated. It was just like Proper to spoil the party and talk about boring old money.

 

“No,” he said leaning towards Proper, “ there’s no money involved…you only need to sign on the dotted line!”

 

Proper swooned as she drank in his scent; “B & S” she was sure of it, an expensive brand and he had cufflinks to match. How cultured  - a man who knows how to dress she thought as she undressed him with her eyes.

 

Prim also felt herself strangely drawn to this man.

 

“What sort of ideas would do for me?” asked Prim, trying to fence in her imagination that was running wild with all kinds of things she’d like to do with this man.

 

“I see sunsets, sunrises and soft, sandy beaches, cocktails,” he whispered as if in a trance.

 

“Cocktails?” said Proper, “ I’m afraid we don’t drink!”

 

“Speak for yourself,” said Prim, suddenly animated,” I had a mocktail once.”

 

“And you were hungover for a week on a non-alcoholic drink,” cried Proper.

 

“I didn’t know I was allergic to mangoes!” said Prim.

 

“Ladies,” the stranger said,” I see you are both like-minded.”

 

Proper looked at Prim doubtfully – Prim was a bit of a stuffed shirt and Proper didn’t really know how to hang loose so she guessed they were.

 

Prim disappeared and then reappeared with a plate of scones. She’d have this stranger eating out of her hand.

 

“Coffee, tea or me?” she said, breathlessly.

 

“Oh my dear…not before you’ve signed on the dotted line,” said the stranger.

 

Proper pursued her lips at Prim’s wanton antics. Any moment and she’d rip her bodice open for all and sundry to see.

 

“So let’s get down to business,” she said sitting close to the stranger that their knees almost touched, “ what do you want us to buy?”

“Fifty shades of sand, sea & sunshine,” he whispered touching Ms Proper’s hand ever so gently.

 

 

Prim pursed her lips; Proper was making a right show of herself. Fifty shades….fifty shades…..where had she heard that before? Of course, at the DIY store, fifty shades of damson was what she’d decided to paint the shed with.

 

“What’s the name of your company?”

 

“Hook, Line & Sinker.”

 

“Oh, is this something to do with fishing?” asked Proper.

 

“The time share is set in a picturesque location……miles of white sand, close to the turquoise ocean with tiny cabanas to enjoy candlelit dinners on the beach under a million stars.” the man said putting an application form in front of her.

 

Proper peered at the form and signed it; she was sold.

 

“I suppose I could take my knitting along and Prim could bring along her “Cluedo” .”

 

“When do we get to see it?” asked Prim

 

“First you have to pay a deposit of £1000 and then monthly instalments of £500 for the rest of your life,” he said smiling like a cat who’d got the cream.

 

“For life?” whispered Proper, “you mean this is forever?.”

 

“And you always told me that nothing’s forever,” said Prim.

 

The man had grasped Proper’s hand and was stroking it. His eyes were like blue magnets.

 

“You won’t regret a thing!” he said, placing the form into his briefcase.

 

Proper felt as if she was walking on air.

 

“Will we see you again?”

 

“Of course, we have to go and check out your holiday home. Pack your bikinis!”

 

Prim and Proper sighed as they showed the handsome man out of the door.

 

“What have I done?” cried Proper having an epiphany.

 

“Your head and your heart exchanged places, had a fist fight, your heart stomped on your head and probably needs hospitalisation,” declared Prim.

 

Proper threw her a withering look.

 

“I suppose you were an innocent bystander!”

 

“I was studying his bulging biceps, impeccable pecs and magnificent structure….for my art portfolio,” replied Prim, her cheeks a tad flushed.

 

“You need a long, cold shower, Ms!” retorted Proper.

 

“Oh…wasn’t he just a the epitome of gorgeousness?” sighed Prim, unbuttoning her top button.

 

“Yes, but I’ve just committed the cardinal sin of spending money on frivolity,” said Proper, in despair.

 

“Think of it this way, we’re going to share time with bare chested hunks in speedos. Think of that firm flesh on show.”

 

“Oooh, it’s not Proper!” exclaimed Proper,” but she knew she’d sleep a  better tonight with unbridled lust to keep her warm.

 

“I’m going to let my imagination run wild…..I can’t wait to share time,” Prim squealed like a stuck pig, “get your holiday packing list ready and away we go!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ms Prim & Ms Proper.....vist an art gallery

Mses Prim & Proper had got tickets for the local art and waxworks exhibition and they were very excited.

 

Ms Proper was kitted out in a demure twin set complete with a matching pearl necklace and earrings whilst Ms Prim was wearing an elegant Laura Ashley dress with a fascinator.

 

“A fascinator?” frowned Proper, “we’re not going to Ascot!”

 

Prim blew the feathers out of her eyes.

 

“Well, we’re going to be mixing with high brow people, we’ve got to look the part,” she said, “ I hear Mr Rich-B’Stard and Mr Snobb, the art critics and other celebrities are going to be there.”

 

“You better keep out of their way, you know nothing about art or wax,” said Proper disparagingly.

 

“And you do?”

 

“I got a candle-making kit one Christmas and made candles and put them all around the house. I also won third prize for my picture of a crow in Year 7,” declared Proper, proudly.

 

“That Christmas,” cried Prim, rolling her eyes,” you set fire to the curtains in the living room and your picture of a crow looked strangely like Ms Head-Butt, the PE teacher, and she had you doing extra laps around the field for your trouble.”

 

“I’ve moved in important circles, Prim.”

 

“The Book Circle, the Stitch & Bitch Circle, the Green Fingers Circle, The Menopause Circle, the Bible Circle, the Ping-Pong Circle and the Swingers Circle,” replied Prim, counting on her fingers.

 

“Aah, the  Swingers,” said Proper, adding some blusher to her cheeks, “I thought it was a gymnastics club!”

 

Soon the ladies were in a black cab, dressed in their finery, ready for an evening of art and wax.

 

As they arrived they were greeted by Mr Mick Angel ,one of the exhibitors who lead them to his display.

 

It was a row of empty milk bottles.

 

“So what you do think?” he said

 

“ Pragmatic quirk, with just the right hint of aesthetics,” replied Proper. She’d been swotting up on the jargon.

 

“I see you’re a connoisseur, my dear,” said Mick Angel fawning.

 

 “My learned companion is more of a Bacardi kind of gal and mine’s a Baby cham,” said Prim.

 

Proper gave Prim a swift kick.

 

“I don’t indulge usually but I can make an exception this time,” said Proper, admiring his bone structure.

 

“And what you think of this piece of fine art?” asked Mick Angel, his eyes fixed on Prim’s  cleavage.

 

“Foamy, frothy and sweet!” said Prim noticing that Mick Angel was getting a little hot under the collar, “ breasts are useful in the production of milk.”

 

Mick Angel’s face was flushed as he gazed adoringly at the soft, flesh on display.

 

“Let’s move on,” said Proper grabbing Prim and guiding her towards some paintings.

 

“I love the impressionists,” said Prim.

 

“Get that fascinator out of your eyes and you might see something. Your boobs have already made a big impression!” said Proper, crossly.

 

Prim and Proper gazed at the splashes, dashes, slashes and crashes of shapes and colour that didn’t make any sense until they came to the Life exhibition.

 

“Erection” by Mervy Pervie was standing centre-stage.

 

“It looks like the Twin Tower,” said Prim.

 

“That was a steel construction,” said Mr Rich-B’stard,” this is raw flesh.”

 

“This would have withstood a terrorist attack, I’m sure ,” said Prim, staring at it until she was nearly cross-eyed.

 

“Are there any crudities on offer?” asked Proper with a sickly sweet smile; her stomach was rumbling.

 

“Yes, we have Gonorrhea – a Gothic work by  new artist Hanky Pankie, who is not afraid to dabble. Phelgm is also thought provoking and you could get swallowed up in it. My particular favourite is Cradle Cap by Aloe Pecia & Dan Druff, it leaves you with flakes of inspiration.”

 

Prim was getting rather bored with this drivel and spied Mr Snobb sitting on a bench. She made a bee-line for him and sat next to him talking animatedly. It wasn’t only Proper who knew her art.

 

Proper wandered around the wax museum, standing next to famous statesmen, sportsmen and actors. She stood next to David Beckham and imagined herself as Victoria. Next to Mahatma Gandhi she thought herself as Indira, next to Peter Andre, she was Katie Price (but not nearly as well endowed) and next to Rod Hull, she felt like Emu!

 

She noticed Prim was sipping at a glass of wine whilst Mr Snobb was slumped on the bench just as he’d been when she’d left them.

 

Proper approached and indicated to Prim that it was time to go.

 

“But I’m in the middle of an interesting discussion with Mr Snobb,” wailed Prim who always got loud after one glass; two glasses and she was like a pneumatic drill!

 

“Mr Snobb is a busy man,” said Proper, sticking her nose in the air.

 

“Oh Mr Snobb,” cried Prim slipping her arm through his,” I think we should do this again; it’s been fun!”

 

Mr Snobb didn’t move a muscle.

 

“What’s been fun?” asked a rotund gentleman with heavy jowls.

 

“M…Mr…Mr Snobb!” cried Proper aghast, her head turning from the figure on the bench.

 

“I never knew there could be two Snobbs in one gallery,” said Prim.

 

“There aren’t,” said Mr Snobb, “that’s a wax caricature of me. Good isn’t it?”

 

Proper threw Prim a dirty look and hustled her outside.

 

“You’ve been talking to a wax work?!”

 

“What a good listener…that’s how I like a man…silent!” said Prim.

 

The two ladies both walked towards the café and ordered two strong teas realising how exhausting and exhilarating art could be.

 

 

 

 

Ms Prim and Ms Proper.....become psychotherapists for a day!

For Mses Prim and Proper there was rarely a dull moment. Daily life was a thing that they could get lost in easily. Getting lost was Ms Proper’s forte and she sometimes took the Sat Nav out with her when she went to the garden.

Ms Prim was more of dreamer and she loved to make plans that hardly ever came to fruition. Like the time she decided to build a rockery but couldn’t find enough rocks! There was also the time when she decided to launch her own range of home made beauty products and then found out that some of the ingredients were toxic. Ms Proper had been the guinea pig and was slathered in Prim’s version of “Spinach and Couscous” facial scrub. Even Poupou had turned up his nose at the bright green face that Proper had sported for days.

So when a bargain popped into Ms Proper’s inbox : “PSYCHOTHERAPIST FOR A DAY” for two people, she promptly signed her and Prim on it. The next week both Prim and Proper were kitted out in their clinical, white coats as they learnt the art of psycho-analysis. They both received certificates and now all they had to do was find some willing people to test out their new expertise.

As they passed the coffee-shop, they spied Ms Fake-Tan, Ms Vajazzle and Ms Down-Trodden.

“Those should be interesting subjects,”said Proper entering the shop and handing them all appointment cards.

“What’s this for?” asked Vajazzle, lifting a manicured eyebrow.

“Some cosmetic surgery you might be interested in,” said Proper.

“Oooh yes,” squealed Fake-Tan,” can you give me a permanent colour?

“I’d love some work done on my Downton-Abbey,” said Vajazzle pointing to her nether regions.

Ms Down-Trodden didn’t say a word but Prim and Proper knew that she needed a full transplant….of her brain!

“See you all at 3pm!” trilled Proper and grabbed Prim.

“What sort of cosmetic surgery are we going to give them?” asked Prim.

“A mental makeover,” replied Proper, “we’re going to give their brain a good wash and re-modify their thought patterns.”

Wow, Prim was impressed.

“And what shall I do?”

“You’ll take down notes, make the tea and provide first aid.”

Prim looked a little crestfallen but Proper was the doctor and she’d just better swallow the medicine…even if was bitter!

First to arrive was Fake-Tan. She sauntered in dressed in a slinky white top and white, Bermuda shorts with gold sandals.

“This is my Monte-Carlo look, dah-ling!”

“Lie down on the couch,” commanded Proper, “ we’re going to play a word association game.”

“Sunshine”

“Sex”

“Ageing”

“Sex”

“Joan Collins!”

“Look in the mirror,” said Proper instructing Prim to thrust one in front of Fake-Tan.

“Ugh, it’s horrible,” cried F-T as she gazed at her leathery skin.

“Exactly,” said Proper,” your skin looks like an eighty-year-old woman’s!”

“But I thought I looked hip and trendy; all the guys on the beach really dig it.”

“They’re lying!” said Prim,” just humouring you. You’re mutton dressed as horsemeat!”

Proper gave her a magnifying mirror and F-T shrieked in horror.

“I look positively ghoulish!”

“You’d probably get a part in that new vampire movie!” said Prim, scribbling down an idea for a novel.

“OMG, I never realised I looked so hideous!” wailed F-T,” what can I do?”

Proper adjusted her glasses; all psychotherapists wore glasses didn’t they?

“I suggest you stop spraying that nasty stuff on your skin and go for the nude look.”

“Nude is rude!” quipped Prim, who had delicate sensibilities.

“Nude is the new bronze; and you need a large dose of it,” said Proper, throwing her assistant a look of disdain, ”your pores are clogged and your look is more Peckham Rye at the moment.”

F-T dissolved into tears but she knew that Proper was right.

“Next” said Proper, feeling rather pleased with herself.

Prim showed in Ms Vajazzle who was wearing a black boob tube (even though it was the middle of November)  neon pink lurex leggings and a leather jacket.

“There’s nothing wrong with me so I don’t know why I’m here,” said Vajazzle, crossing her legs.

“Uncross those legs, you need to breathe!” said Proper firmly.

“Eh?

“Your issue is that your lower region tissues  are suffocated with fripperies!”

“It’s like having an alien growing inside you,” interjected Prim.

“Shuut Up,” said Vajazzle,” the only thing that’s growing inside me is healthy bacteria.”

“Bacteria, my dear, is never healthy…..especially in that part of your anatomy.”

Vajazzle knew that these two were a bit psycho and in need of therapy themselves.

“So what’s the deal?”

“I believe you need a strict programme of celibacy,” said Proper noticing that Prim’s eyes widening like saucers.

“Celi…what?” asked Vajazzle

“Celebrity,” responded Prim,” I love looking through “Hello” magazine and seeing what Posh and Becks get up to and those WAG’s”.

“You two should pop in to my “Slut Hut” where we do pole and lap dancing classes with a few cocktails thrown in,” said Vajazzle.

“I’m talking about celibacy, abstinence, denial, sacrifice and renunciation of carnal desires,” said Proper, with a righteous air.

“Is that even English?” asked Prim, struggling to get the spelling right.

“I’ve got a better idea,” said Vajazzle, “you bring your love rabbit to the Hut and the girls and me will give you an all over pamper session.”

“All over?”

Vajazzle nodded, “ every part of your body is going to be refreshed and relaxed.”

Prim quivered with excitement; it was long time since she’d relaxed her pelvic floor muscles and Proper could do with a little sphincter muscle massage.

Proper was rather miffed that she’d called Poupou, a love rabbit. He was doctored and devoted to celibacy, just like her.

Vajazzle staggered off the couch, waving as she went.

“Not much success there then,” said Proper.

“Into each life, a little failure must fall,” sang Prim softly, “ but too much is falling into ours.”

“Next,” shrilled Proper, drowning out Prim’s singing.

Ms Down-Trodden shuffled onto the couch.

“I…I…’m not sure you can help me,” she said.

Proper looked at her drawn face and sallow complexion.

“What’s the matter?” she said gently.

“I’ve fallen in love,” whispered D-T.

“Love. It’s a beautiful word but that’s all it is……,” said Proper, shaking her head.

“Don’t listen to her,” said Prim kindly, “ he must be wonderful.”

“I think so,” said D-T meekly, “but I can’t cope.”

“Come, come, love makes your heart sing and puts a spring in your step. You just can’t stop smilin’cos you’re floating on air and you’ve got butterflies in your stomach,” explained Prim.

“I’ve got caterpillars in my stomach and a lump of lead in my throat,” said D-T, bursting into tears.

Who is this man?” asked Proper.

“Mr Narcissist!” said D-T, sobbing.

Oh dear thought Prim and Proper together, this was a hopeless case. You’ll never float on air with a Narcissist, more likely to sink into the murky depths of despair.

“You poor thing,” sympathised Prim.

“Get rid of him; drop him like a hot potato,” ordered Proper.

“But I love him,” cried D-T.

“Don’t be foolish…there’s nothing to lovable about a man who’s in love with himself….and he’s certainly not in love with you!”

Ms D-T suddenly had a epiphany.

“You’re right he’s doesn’t  know what love is. It’s just a word that he uses like a bait to pull at my heart strings.”

“I recommend that you keep your heart under lock and key and never let a man open it unless he’s gone through the twelve step programme.” said Proper.

“Or use a locksmith,” said Prim helpfully.

“This therapy has been rather wearing and we need something strong, handsome and calming,” said Prim.

“A good cup of green tea, that’ll perk us up.”

Proper brewed up and the three ladies felt that each of them had had a productive day.

“Don’t think I could do this therapy lark all day,” said Proper, “ it’s so wearing.”

“No let’s leave it to Mr Kyle and Oprah – the Narcissist Hunters,” said Prim thinking that D-T would probably find a session at the “Slut Hut” more useful. Prim was certainly looking forward to her own session, dancing in laps and around the Maypole sounded just her cup of tea!