Today the challenge is to write about a creation myth.
In the books.
In the story books, and the ones that are given out in the
classroom at school during the lesson called biology or
possibly, if you are at a progressive sort of school that seems
to abound nowadays, in a lesson about health and stuff,
then mummy meets daddy, they get on very well and
eventually go and see a vicar or something, buy
expensive clothes, have a fancy day that costs a fortune and
where women dress up like exotic butterflies, men like
butlers from a West End farce, and three uncles and an aged
aunt drink too much and do the cancan, and the
lovely couple head off to somewhere like barbados or bognor
and finally discover what the stuff between their legs is for,
and come back with the mummy preggers and all is well.
It is a myth.
It does not account for the sex after too much vodka, or
the battle to win the attention of gorgeous gav from
slutty sal, or to get prim priscilla drunk enough to
persuade her into your bed and keep sober enough to
escape in the morning before she wakes up and
remembers who you are!
It does not account for sex on the back seat of a fiat 500,
or behind the market stall.
It does not account for that lad who promised the earth then
turned out to be married and who now denies
Any Responsibility.
Myth is not Real Life.
(c) 2ndwitch, 19/04/17
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