The scene. My bedroom, about noon. A few days ago. I lie in bed, in that not-quite-awake state between pressing 'snooze' on my alarm and waiting for it to go off next. Then, I hear the voices. Nope, it's not the Christmas elves. It's not even the tooth fairy. It's, of course, my characters and boy, are they wide awake and kicking.
What do you mean, a bustle?
I mean a bustle. Goodness, Echo, haven't you ever seen a bustle?
Do they have anything to do with those awful Jane Austen adaptations you're always making me watch?
Awful - no, no, I shall not rise to the bait.
[mutters a number of words under her breath that amaze me, because I'll bet she doesn't have the faintest idea what they mean.]
Since when is you piece of marzipan considered an insult?
Echo, do you want to get this costume finished or not? Did you say it was for that trollop of a girl who's playing you? Yuck, should we make it ugly?
Oooh, we could! Put her in something that'll clash with her hair! [Pauses] She really doesn't like me. I don't know why, I've never done anything to her. Well, I might have said I'd never seen hair quite so ginger in my life, but I didn't mean it to be rude.
[LEKHA snorts knowingly. So do I.]
What? What? I know that snort. Why doesn't she like me? Do you think it's because of what I am?
Hoo! Why would she get herself cast in a play about echoes if she hated echoes? Isn't it obvious why she doesn't like you?
But I've never learned anything about this kind of situation, how can I possibly guess -
Well, never mind, put it out of your head. Do stop procreating and tell me what you think of using a bustle for this costume.
Who is? It sounds contagious.
STOP! STOP SO I CAN WRITE ALL THIS DOWN!