by David Faden
June 14, 2002
"I feel as if I'm living inside a piece of writing idly writ," Queen Abigail says.
"Bah, fiddlesticks," King Tatertot says. He claps. The queen frowns. "Dance, monkey, dance!"
The monkey blinks at the king. Then it stands on tiptoe and turns once around.
"Today I was walking in the garden," the queen says.
"In the garden?" the king says. He picks his nose. The queen frowns. "Are my roses blooming yet?"
"The roses were all eaten by gnomes, dear," the queen says. The king scowls. "As I was saying, today I was walking in the garden, and it occurred to me that everyday it is exactly the same."
"Oh, really?" the king says.
"Yes. As I step through the gate, the gardener is always clipping the same hedge. The same butterfly is always about to drink from the same flower. The same horse-shaped cloud is always floating just below the sun."
"Well, really, dear," the king says. "What do you expect? We have this same conversation everyday."
"I suppose that's right, dear," the queen says. "But I do wish you'd stop picking your nose."
"You know I can't do that, dear," the king says.
They both smile. The monkey gnaws on its tail.