by Jay Hughes
Jill sat next to Segoy and touched her on the wrist. "How was your trip?"
"Just like yours was."
Either these women had been together recently or they had nothing in common.
"This doesn't seem like much of a reunion," I said.
Jill smiled. "We don't relate that way."
I just sat and stared, first at Jill, then at Segoy. Whatever. I waited for a signal. Maybe they were feuding. Moms and daughters do that.
Segoy looked at me and didn't smile, as though she seemed confused that I didn't understand. "My duties are defined, then?"
Duties? "Jill, what's this all about?"
"Segoy will be our ambassador to the United Nations, like we discussed."
"Is that a good idea? You'll go through hell, girl."
Segoy shrugged. At last I think I saw a faint smile come across her coal-black lips. "I don't mind. There are more of us, you realize."
I realized. "So, Jill ... may I ask ... what are your duties?"
"You don't know?"
"Are you wearing panties?"
"Purple ones, and why did you ask?"
"I was lacking some important information on both topics."
Jill got up and pushed me into the chair, sat on my lap and sucked my tongue out. She turned to Segoy. "That's how we do it here. You'll catch on."
Segoy nodded.
"Do I have to find her a boyfriend?"
Jill turned back to me. "Now you know what my duties are."
"Do we fondle now?"
Jill sat back. "Not in front of my daughter!"
EPILOGUE
I regret that I didn't get back to the subject of the cantaloupe. It seems somewhat trivial at this point.
Our lives have changed. Segoy has moved to New York to assume her role among the world's leaders. The world is no more at peace now than it ever was, but you can't leave such matters to kids, can you? She comes to visit once a month.
We have a new less-lumpy couch now and Klinger has taken to it. He still pisses against it, proving Jill has as much control over a dachshund as I do. I point that out to her.
We are still haggling with the government over whether it's legal for us to get married. We want to adopt a thingy.
Jill promises to get her hands on some home movies of Standard Eight. She wants to show me the sights. I'd settle for a postcard from the others.
Oh, yeah ... them. They're coming.
Plant spruce.
BEAM US UP, FRICK!
