Al had been laughing about the Australian winter until it decided to retaliate. Recovering from a cold, he was wrapped in a thick sweater and an unbearably comfortable pair of woolen Ugg boots Dorothy gave him, thick ski socks, and a cup of coffee which Carla had theorized might have to be surgically removed. They were waiting for a new client, a food manufacturer, as Joe, slightly wet, similarly attired, but wearing fleece lined boots, scuttled in.
“Cold….!” explained Joe, rubbing then extending both hands towards Carla, who rolled her eyes roofward.
“Do I look like a bar heater?”
“Unfortunately, no. Never mind…we like you….”
“Even if you’re not centrally heated…,” added Al.
“Can’t even toast marshmallows,” sighed Joe.
“How safe do you think your marshmallows, or any other part of your brain, would be with me?” enquired Carla.
Joe hid behind Al.
“Good point,” he said.
Al hid behind Joe.
“Whaddya mean, good point? Don’t get her riled up. She was talking about surgically removing my coffee cup.”
“To think medical science has come so far.”
“Well, if it comes any further it might get here…..and my coffee cup would be doomed, d’you hear, doomed! I grew it myself, too…in our little orchard…at Valley Forge…we had to sell Granny to the firewood people to get the fertilizer….” Al paused to give a look of such utter pathos that Joe and Carla both winced.
“This is American hegemony?” asked Carla.
“Apparently,” said Joe.
Bill, drenched, squelched in, saw the gathering, shook himself like a dog, hitting Carla, who asked in a caring sort of way if he’d like them to install a swimming pool.
“I’ll tell Dorothy on you,” said Al.
Bill ran yipping into his office. “Yipe, yipe, yipe,……”
“That chutney guy’s due here any minute,” yelled Al.
A lengthy howl was heard from the office, followed by a hammering sound and the strange rustling sounds of a person obviously doing something physically demanding and complicated. The others were silent trying to figure out what the sound was. A massive thud got them worried. Further silence. A dragging sound. A clunk, then a scratching noise. The sound of something scampering, like an army of ducks in jackboots, then further silence. Bill emerged, wearing a large full size woolen coat, an Aran sweater, and knee length Ugg boots.
“Come in spinner,” commented Joe.
“Come in something,” agreed Carla.
They explained to Al that “Come in spinner” meant a new mug in a betting game called two-up.
“So this is what you’ve been doing in the dungeon?” asked Al.
“You look like you’re waiting for a remake of The Man From Snowy River. Banjo’s ghost will get you for that. You hussy,” said Carla.
“On sale at the Rocks Markets, $200 the lot.”
Carla and Joe looked at each other and went looking for their umbrellas.
“Do they have those in an American style? You know, flashy.” asked Al.
“What, with a car park for the full of figure? Of course. They even have little street cars for those trying to get to their pockets.”
This was a reference to the fact that Al had lost a bit of weight and was now looking much fitter. He also felt a lot fitter, which on top of the joys of the job, made him fell better than he ever had in his life.
“It’s the hills, you know. Trying to get one’s massive buttocks over them can tire one so,” said Al, with a martyred look.
“That silly Isaac Newton.”