GRAMMY: Jules? What the hell do you want?
JULES: I’ve come to spend Christmas with my son.
GRAMMY: So you came here? And brought friends?
JULES: It’s Wednesday. Isn’t Barbara usually here on Wednesdays?
GRAMMY: It’s almost midnight, dimbulb. She does go home once in a while. You know - to eat and sleep.
JULES: Oh. Well . . . .
GRAMMY: Did you bring presents for the boy?
JULES: I’m, ah . . . a bit short right now.
GRAMMY: Yeah, I can see that. Must have spent it all on those fancy duds, huh?
JULES: Well, you know what they say, Grammy. Clothes make the man.
GRAMMY: Yeah, they do. But we were talking about you. (slams door in his face)
JULES: Grammy! We’re not going anywhere! We’ll be here for Christmas dinner!
GRAMMY: Good. Dinner’s at five. Bring your appetites!
Now where did I put that rat poison?
Photo: Neil Girling
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