“Did I tell you I’m a funambulist?”
“Where did you train?”
“In bed of course.” Harry winked, his gold filling twinkling in his grin.
“How do you balance in bed?”
“What?”
“I assume you practiced a lot to be a funambulist. Maybe six inches to start then gradually adding more?”
“No, I started with a long stroll. I was never one for perambulating about the bush.”
“Do you have special shoes?”
“For sleepwalking?”
“On a highwire?”
“What are you talking about, Lady?”
“Oh, Harry. You’re a somnambulator, not a funambulist!” By the way, did I tell you I’m an expostulate?”
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Oh, this is deliciously naughty! (Either that or sadly I’m being a sick old deviant again.) 😛
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There is a certain amount of innuendo, as there is in any high-wire act.
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I have never heard expostulate used as a noun, so my mind went not to expostulator, but to ex-postulant, which would be someone who escaped from the nunnery before taking any final vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience.
I also misconstrued funambulist—by pronunciation (fun-ambulist). But when I figured things out, I was indeed mordified.
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I think it makes perfect sense that Lady Smock is an ex-postulant, don’t you? Malapropisms are often perfectly appropriate.
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I hope we can expect the expostulate to expectorate next. I think your little stories are getting delightfully further out of the square!
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It depends on the time of day, Bruce, the phase of the moon, and if my socks are clean.
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