This day begins like any other. Spencer throws open the sash. Margaret gasps, and Cook brings the coffee. “How are you, dear? Did you sleep well?” Spencer asks his dear wife. 
“I’m as full of shit as a cholera submarine,” Margaret replies, much to Spencer’s surprise. “Don’t look so aghast, you know I took Percocet yesterday and now I’m constipated. My sciatica is acting up… Dr. Smoteworth told me, just last week, not to try to bear the pain on my own. I’ve taken him up on his advice and invited Sweet William to visit. He’s arriving on the ten o’clock train from Everett’s Crossroads. Cook…” she looks over at the woman ladling sugar into her mug of coffee, “would you see to it that Smarls picks Sweet William up at the station? I don’t want him taking the bus.”
“Why certainly, Miz Margaret,” Cook replies. “You’ll be wanting some of my special grits and a couple slabs of country ham for dinner then, won’t you? I’ll sent Smarls out early, have him stop at the Pig for some hoop cheese. And you’ll be needing some Activia today too, I suspect.” Cook bows and backs out the door, closing it with her good foot.
“Oh Spencer! I shall rise and shine. It’s been a coon’s age since our dear boy was home. I hope he brings you more babies from the Pig. That last bag was just wonderful.”
Spencer scowls. “Boy? Boy! Sweetie is no longer a child, dear one. He’s been to France. He’s a man. I’ve heard, from a reliable source, that our Sweets fumbled like a sleepwalker in a strange room when he first met Madam Lillian at the Humble Pie. I hope he’s in a good mood. Last time he was here, he was about as fun as a hot fudge enema. What was it Maman used to say… oh yes… Sweets was as fun as a bag of snakes at an Avon party when he didn’t get his way. But I will be glad to see him.” Spencer tied a smart Windsor knot and pulled his Sansabelts almost up to his nipples. “Who do I remind you of now?”
Margaret giggled. “Oh, I love it when you do that. Uncle Felthat was such a snap. If only he could be here – now that the quince is in bloom. He may have been dull as an archdeacon, contrary as a handful of coat hangers and common as a back-fence cat, but we did love him, didn’t we?” Restless as a woman with an itch, she glances at the back of her hands and inspects her nails. Her eyes blinked like a vigilant lizard’s.
“So many have gone before us, my dear. We must honor their memories. Today would be an excellent time to compile the guest list for Smarls birthday party. Ever since Arlis died, he’s been in a royal funk. Now, quick as a rat up a drainpipe, grab your PDA and let’s start thinking…”