NOTE: A fictitious couple in a retirement village in New Zealand face the first day after the final level of the nation-wide COVID-19 Lockdown to combat the spread of the coronavirus is retraced by the Government.
Pleasantly lined face Edna Eccles (76) at her 'observation' seat behind a protective fine-mesh curtain of the living room window of Apartment 9103 at the Sunnytimes Retirement Village, reported to Nick, who'd been her husband since he was twenty-eight when she proposed marriage.
"Mrs Clone is limping toward her small Toyota car, favoured by penny-pinching commoners and being parked illegally overnight in the visitor's parking area. It appears likely she's going shopping because she's wearing pearls - imitation ones, I bet - and a cloche hat that she doesn't wear when taking that mangy dog of hers for a pee on Oyster Bay Beach."
Nick (81), a long-retired Postmaster from the days when they still existed in pumped-up self-importance and in the large centres genuinely believing they rated in equal status to an Navy Commodore or Army Brigadier, rattled his newspaper irritated at been torn away from reading the tiny print of classified ads to try to strengthen his failing eyesight.
For some obscure reason he squinted and asked, "What stockings is she wearing?"
"Purple mesh ones and the back seams look quite straight on this occasion."
"Goodie, I'm coming over for an inspection. You know my favourite perversion is dress stockings."
"Too late, she's in the car," Edna said excitedly, loving having docile Nick interested in anything these days.
"Damn, what's her hurry," half-forgetful Nick said, trying to remember which ad he had been reading when being interrupted by the big tease spying from the window.
"Am I really married to you?"
"Yes, dear. I chose you instead of one of the eight Coates brothers because your mother paid me fifty dollars to permanently get you out of her house."
"Then you must have been a great looker?"
"Yes, I was dear, with plump rosy cheeks, well brushed golden locks..."
"Oh, never mind. Bury your nose in that Tory newspaper."
"Edna, I know you spent a year in England after you completed high school when you couldn't find a job and your Aunt paid for you to go to her in London and work as her housekeeper. But there's no need to still think you are English and imbued with the inherited working class' hatred of the Tories."
"No need? May I remind you that was the greatest 18 months of my entire life."
"What about the first year of our marriage, dear?"
"Thank you for the opportunity to express myself Nick but let's move on."
"Where to?"
"Into brighter conversation. You can converse brilliantly except when you're pissed."
Nick chuckled and said, "Do you mean angry at someone or drunk?"
"Take your pick."
"Thanks Edna, I'll have a beer."
She snorted and said he couldn't because it was only 8.57.
"Omigod, look."
"Can't, my eyes don't protrude that far because their stalks are too short."
Edna told him to stop talking rubbish and listen.
"There are people, mainly women with shopping baskets or small shopping trollies, pouring out of apartments and heading for reception to line up for the van to Oakland. There must be forty or fifty of them with possibly more to come."
Nick said it was the first Sunnytimes van shopping trip to nearby Oakland Shopping Centre since the ending of Lockdown that had given back the majority of New Zealanders their complete freedom.
"Those residents are eager to get back into stride and hit the shops."
Edna observed, "Most can't stride. They totter or shuffle, or both."
"Edna, believe that what I said symbolically, they'll be thinking they are striding forth into glory."
"Oh yeah? I say they'll be rejoicing because the Labour Government has freed them."
"Tut tut, Edna. That's the same Government that locked up all of us. They're a pack of..."
Edna yelled, "Control your foul mouth, Nick."
He grinned, having succeeded with that stir. He was pleased that they were poles apart when it came to politics, as it provided him with great baiting opportunity.