#tuesdayuseitinasentence: The revenge of the fur coat


Image: Pixabay

‘Wow,’ breathed Michael, staring at the carnage.

He had been the perfect host – pule and caviar canapes; Dom Perignon 2006; Charbonnel et Walker chocolates; an ice sculpture of himself, towering over the congregation, a frozen collosus complete with ridges of slick hair and rictus smile – a frighteningly close likeness, his PA Imogen had said; floral displays of strelitzia, orchid and gloriosa lilies that soared to the ceiling; a ten piece, tux-clad band (smooth jazz, classy but easy standards, nothing experimental or hard on the ear) and the finishing touch – a point of perfect irony – tame mink, necks wreathed in pure gold chains, walked through the chittering throng by supermodels wearing floor length coats of the same glossy brown fur.

An evening that would be remembered for decades to come – the oppulence of Michael Philip O’Connell.

But Michael discovered too late that mink are vicious creatures who resent the close proximity of their murdered and skinned brethren and aren’t afraid to lash out at the nearest bare-toed supermodel in pin sharp revenge. And supermodels become dangerously unsteady when they have expensive mustelidae (not rodents – Imogen had made a point of telling him) gnawing on their painted and polished extremities. And who knew that ice sculptures of billionaires are surprisingly top heavy, even when nudged by girls with rope-skinny arms (he thought Imogen had muttered something about it being the fault of his oversized head, but he’d been distracted by the caviar smeared across the floor like a bankrupting dirty protest, so he could have misheard). And who knew that jazz trumpeters bled so freely when a hundred weight of strelitzia fall on them?

As the screaming rose in pitch and the polished floor grew slick with melting ice, pule and blood, an unopened bottle of Dom Perignon rolled towards him, hitting the left toe of his Canali shoes. He picked up the bottle and a chunk of ice that had skidded along with it – the tip of his own nose if he wasn’t very much mistaken. He twisted the cork, easing out the last millimetres with his thumb and pushed the ice nose into the bottle.

As the champagne bubbles popped on the roof of his mouth, he was already planning his next birthday – perhaps a yoga retreat in Nepal? He’d ask Imogen to arrange it – once she’d stopped laughing.


Written for Stephanie at Word Adventures’ #tuesdayuseitinasentence. Use the prompt word – today it’s HOST – to write a post. See here to play along and to read the other stories.









28 thoughts on “#tuesdayuseitinasentence: The revenge of the fur coat

  1. That’s insane, my kind of insane. “Wow,” word carnage, the good kind (and saw you got your florist reference in there, nice). Too many phrases and word choices here to cite my joy, and too many for me to look up now, wow! Bill


    1. Glad you enjoyed it, Stephanie. I confess I had to Google all the expensive food, drink and the shoes – way out of my price range! Thanks for reading 🙂


      1. We have mink here in the UK that were first breed for fur and escaped into the wild, and vicious little devils they are too! I’d never heard of the cheese or the shoes before. It’s a whole different world 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Hilarious madness! And there was me thinking he was about to get his comeupance.
    Maybe the world needs a few men like Michael Philip O’Connell, to give an edge to our anger.
    Thanks, Lynn, for yet another exellent – and unpredictable – read.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh, I have a feeling that PA of his will channel some comeuppance his way. Perhaps the yoga retreat will include daily colonic irrigation and a diet of water and mung beans (mind you, I quite like a mung bean). Thank you, Jane. Hope it made you smile 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

      1. If you combine it with a few days on a raw veg diet and revolting wheatgrass drinks, you’ll feel amazing afterwards – but if you’re anything like me you’ll spend days 2 & 3 crying and muttering about cafiene withdrawal…

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Bloody hell – in Barnstaple? The stuff’s evil, truly evil. I mean, you see a fair amount of evidence of drug related goings on – people’s behaviour, needles in the local park – but it’s rife. How can we stop from sinking under the slurry of it all?

        Liked by 1 person

      3. It’s not the first time a firm has come to Barnstaple – three years ago, Paul installed a gang of gun-welding crack dealers from Birmingham in my attic when I was at work. Haven’t I told that story. It was terrifying, but ended on a hilarious note, though I was the only person who was laughing, and it was a somewhat, high-pitched sound which alarmed the police when they came running up the stairs two days after I got rid of the dealers.

        Liked by 1 person

      4. You’ve got it. Paul was paid crack in lieu of rent. I should have called the police, but I was too scared and unwell. I was terrified for my daughter and two grandsons living in the flat below me. It went on for weeks. at one point one of the bosses came down and apologised to me for his boys’ behaviour. He sent them away, then REPLACED THEM WITH TWO MORE while I was at work the next day!
        Some of the things I write sound like fiction. I often wonder if people think I’m a fantasist.


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