POST HASTE, by Colin Howard

(As Mr. Simpson might have told it to his wife)

Is it you, dear? At last! You’re late, aren’t you? I was beginning to worry. Did you post the letter?
- The letter! You can’t imagine my adventures to post that damned letter of yours! Oh! I’m terribly tired!
- What an extraordinary little husband you are, dear! You only go to post a letter and get involved in adventures! I’ll have to be careful next time and not let you have the opportunity…Ha! Ha!
- If you give me the opportunity, dear, I’ll explain to you the whole affair.
- The affair, now?
- Please, don’t talk nonsense, dear, and listen. I went with the letter to post it, you know…
- Did you do it, at last?
- Please, listen. And don’t be so anxious as it’s a long story. I went … Well, I’ve told you that. The matter is that you gave me it unstamped and I didn’t have any coppers on me, so I had to stop the first pedestrian I met and ask him to lend me threepence…
- Did you have the courage?
- Fortunately, he was one of our neighbours, but he hadn’t either.
- What did you do, then?
- Nothing. He was so polite that took me home to lend me the money and as I didn’t know the way to the Post-Office he also accompanied me, but the automatic stamp-machine was empty…
- Dear me!
- That isn’t all. I dropped your letter face downwards on the pavement and it got mud on it…
- I think you did not bother posting it, did you?
- You are wrong! As I knew your insistence about posting it I went to his home to look for a book of stamps, but it was empty, too.
- I see you weren’t able to send the letter, then.
- Yes, I was! I hurried up not to miss the last collection.
- But, haven’t you told me you failed to get a stamp?
- Please, listen. Our neighbor recommended me the only thing that could be done. I sent the letter unstamped.
- And did you send our invitation to dinner unstamped and full of mud? What an unpractical husband you are! You could have put it under the door, so simply!
- But don’t get angry, dear, the consignee will only have to pay double postage in the morning…
- Did you thank that kind neighbor at least? I wonder who he is…
- That’s the problem. At the end I remembered that he is the person whom our invitation was sent…Ji.ji, because the house of his, where I was twice, had the same address as that on the envelope of your letter… Ji, ji.
- What a stupid little husband you are! You do nothing to help me! You always do wrong things! You’re a useless little man! You are…

THE LUNCHEON, by W. Somerset Maugham

(As the waiter might have told it)

- Well, dear, I’m tired! What did you do?
- The usual things, you know, take care of the children and keep the house clean. Did you see anything interesting?
- Well, I saw a curious couple at the restaurant.
- Were they common people to have lunch there?
- Not exactly. But not the kind of customers I’m used to meeting at work. I say, the woman was a middle aged one, smartly dressed and obviously used to the place.
- Was not the man at her level?
- I don’t know. He looked like a clever fellow, because he was speaking all the time and the lady seemed very interested in everything he said, but he was wearing old fashioned clothes and looked a little worried when he saw the delicate foods on the bill of fare, for the prices, I presume.
- Was he younger or older than the woman?
- He was a young man in his twenties.
- Then he must had been afraid of finding himself short if he couldn’t afford such a luxury restaurant. Did he look like her lover?
- No, I don’t think so! He was polite and hospitable, but not effusive.
- What did they have for lunch?
- That’s the point. She had salmon, caviar, giant asparagus, an ice-cream and coffee.
- And he?
- The poor devil ate only a mutton chop and a cup of coffee. She drank champagne but he didn’t.
- Did he drink wine?
- No, he only drank water and when they were waiting for the coffee, Dubois, the head waiter, put on the table a large basket of peaches.
- Peaches?
- Yes, they’re not in season of course and they’re very expensive.
- He won’t have given you a good tip. Will he?
- Of course not! Only three francs.
- Well, dear, what would you like to have for dinner?
- I’m not hungry. Only a mutton chop…

Miopía

El padre de mi joven compañera Mary Carmen, riojana como yo, era un viejecito afectuoso y risueño, de baja estatura y bastante miope, que se paró a saludarnos en una calle de San Sebastián. Yo iba con mi hijo que tendría entonces diez o doce años. Cambiamos unas palabras y le confirmamos que por la tarde nos iríamos a Logroño en coche toda la familia para pasar unos días. Ellos también, Mary Carmen con su hijo y sus padres, irían en La Estellesa a mediodía, por lo que nos deseamos mutuamente un buen viaje y él le dio un cachete cariñoso a mi hijo.

Al día siguiente, ya en Logroño, paseaba junto a la casa de mis padres por la Avenida de Gonzalo de Berceo, acompañado de mi hermano Carlos. Íbamos charlando animadamente cuando nos tropezamos con el padre de mi joven compañera, pues vivían por la zona. A la sorpresa por habernos visto precisamente la víspera siguió el saludo efusivo y, al separarnos, y asegurarme de que parecía que mi hijo había crecido, el seráfico señor le dio a mi hermano un par de cordiales cachetitos en la mejilla que le llenaron de estupor y desconcierto.