by Brenda K
Bodie: "Your trouble, Raymond, is that your compunction's showing again."
Typist (overhearing, in an aside to colleague): "I suppose it is a bit. They are a bit tight, those jeans, but I'm not complaining. Better than those baggy cords of Bodie's."
Typist (aloud, airily): "Oh, I don't mind, Bodie. Brightens up the day, I'd say."
Doyle (beaming): "Thanks, darlin'."
Bodie (suspicious): You do know what compunction is? A qualm?"
Typist (puzzled): Quorn? Isn't that the new-fangled vegetarian stuff? You didn't mean..."
Doyle: "Not quite, love. He's talking about a guilt trip."
Typist, blushing: "A guilt trip? Because his jeans are tight?"
Doyle beams again, in the general direction of the rather pretty typist.
Bodie, resigned, ruffling Doyle's hair good-naturedly: "Time to go, sunshine. Bit of a mopple, eh?"
Typist: "Mopple? He's not going to have his hair cut, is he?"
Bodie, rolling eyes: "Blunder. Mistake."
Typist: "It would be, yes. I like that as it is, too."
Doyle, outside the door: "I'm sure she could help me over a compunction without too many mopples, Bodie. Even if she doesn't have your 'Forgotten English' calendar."
-- THE END --