The Bottom Drawer

You know sometimes, you have a day, and you think to yourself "You know, if I was a writer, this would make a really great short story"? Well one of those days came back to me today, and I'm going to share it with you, so sit down, get a cocoa, and lend me your ears, dears....

She was Sonya, a porcelain figurine straight out of an Edith Sitwell portrait. Fine brittle and translucent, and as sharp and as cold as an English Aristocrat could get. She had an enviable reputation before her; stories of girls having been skewered in the most indelicate of places as she dragged them across the boarding house floor dumping them out of the room unceremoniously. Her home life was not a passionate affair, it can hardly be when your best friend is a rabbit, and you are trained to kiss your mother and father like alabaster statues.
She found the perfect vocation, following in mummy and daddy's footsteps in the medical field, she chose pathology, where she could feel at home with the alabaster complexions and the damp cool skin of the cadavres. I often imagined her floating round the laboratory as her porcelain translucency matching the bowls holding her clients most prized possessions.

I was entranced when the invitation came. The wedding was to be at their house, a vast over sized Georgian Rectory with the small Victorian church just adjacent. He was a surveyor, whom she never said how she met; it couldn't have been at work, and we surmised she had descended to using one of the dating agencies designed for the discerning professional. And I was entranced, because I was to meet the rest of her family, a delight I had been relishing for some years....(to continue and to be edited)