The Aftermath

THE NEXT MORNING, AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE.

“Charlie, you didn’t make tea and toast for me?”

“Nope”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because you cancelled my vote, and I guess a lot of women did the same ,and look who won the election?”

“Oh, did that young woman get elected? Good for her!”

“Yes, and so did her party. Now the country’s in a fix.”

“How so?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Well I guess we have to make sure we don’t ever discuss politics again, the same as we don’t touch religion.”

“Fine with me. And just so you know, once and for all, Jesus was a Christian!”

 

The sports page was opened, the knitting came out and life resumed as before, until the next election in four months.

 

author
Hal Studholme is retired, edging onto 80 and, as he puts it, has no purpose in the universe so he writes the odd (in all senses) poem and stories about the YMCA or his odd friends. Strangely enough, he has been published a few times.
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