Two brown mice sit down to dinner. Tied together by a great grandfather neither of them knew, they decided to meet and see what genetic inheritance he left them. What similarities did they share? How different could they be?
“Well, Buford, I’m glad you were able to dine with me.” The city mouse straightened his black and blue striped tie.
“Yeah, Willy. Thanks for invitin’ me.” The country mouse unbuttoned the top button of his flannel shirt and breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s much better.”
“William.” City mouse corrected with a frown as the maitre d’ approached with two menus and a speculative smile. He offered one more sideways look as he seated them and gestured for their waiter.
Awkward conversation finally commenced after the waiter took their order and disappeared. William cleared his throat and reached for his wine glass, sipping slowly to allow the flavors to infuse his tongue. Buford pushed his wine away and reached for water instead, taking a sip and savoring it in imitation of his cousin’s wine-tasting.
“This city water doesn’t taste right.” He placed the glass on the table.
“That’s why I drink the wine.” William smiled.
“I don’t touch the stuff. Need to be sharp to tend to a farm.”
“I’m sure.”
“What is it you do again?”
“I’m an investor for…”
Buford yawned loudly. “Yer sure we’re related?”
“The genealogist is.” William said sullenly.
“We have ta have somethin’ in common.” Buford grabbed a bread stick and broke it in half, eating each half from the middle to the end.
William picked up a breadstick and repeated the same procedure, mulling it over. “We eat breadsticks the same way.”
“Do ya like catsup on your eggs?”
“Ketchup.” William corrected. “And only if they’re scrambled.”
“My dad ate them that way.” They said in unison.
“Maybe, we are related.” William said, leaning back in his chair.
“And being different ain’t so bad.” Buford worked his way through another breadstick.
“I could always help you if you have investment questions…”
“…and I could introduce you to real food.” Buford eyed William’s plate of escargot suspiciously as he dug into his medium rare steak.
William shook his head. “This is real food.”
“Maybe to city folk. In the country, that’s a pest.”
“In honor of our shared ancestor, I’ll agree to peacefully disagree.”
“As long as you’re payin’, I can do that, too.” Buford agreed.
William tilted his head to indicate assent. They ate quietly, enjoying quiet companionship as they observed other shared quirks. They held their forks between the same fingers and paused to take a sip after every couple of bites. They tapped their fingers nervously on the table during lulls in the conversation. By the end of the evening, they decided they should meet up again and see what else they could discover.
Don't be shy. Feel free to leave some input, impressions, or encouragement.
No comments:
Post a Comment