“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.) 😛
There is a certain amount of innuendo, as there is in any high-wire act.
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.
I think it makes perfect sense that Lady Smock is an ex-postulant, don’t you? Malapropisms are often perfectly appropriate.
I hope we can expect the expostulate to expectorate next. I think your little stories are getting delightfully further out of the square!
It depends on the time of day, Bruce, the phase of the moon, and if my socks are clean.