Marine Biologist

Previously I had lost opinion. The dinner party had descended into such a childish stupor that I had taken to examining the patterns on my napkin. It had all started well enough, P's and Q's and kisses on the cheek, but now it was just silly.
As an escort of the hostess' daughter I had been given strict instructions as to how I should behave; it was a well to do do' and so I had done my best to honour the parameters.

As you can imagine, the most elaborate of chandeliers hung from the ceiling like a geisha at a vomit party. Every wall was covered with the finest antique felt wallpaper that money couldn't buy, while butlers bumbled with bedpans around the really rich because, as was the butler's motif the rich piss their tips'. This could have been a Caesar's feast had it been in ancient Rome, or a banquet for Henry (the morbidly kinky) eighth But it wasn't It had gotten silly.
Upon entrance I had been introduced systematically to each one of the contenders: The Mother; a huge gone-down balloon with a lipstick print on the front and dead fox flung around where her neck should have been: The Father; on first sight I thought that a poorly tap had grown legs and wandered out of the lavatory to find help: the two sisters; It was a shame that they where not born conjoined for the wonder of surgery to remove them both: and finally the child; a brat with no table manners and a stupid little hat with a propeller on.
Other people peppered the length of the vast, clothen table. A mismatch of nodders and shakers, beard strokers and cigar smokers who liked to mumble "here here" hung around like cellulite. As we approached the then reasonably civilised table, I remember thinking Those candle holders look quite expensive' and then the well pressed butler sat me down.
As no conversation had seemed to take hold immediately, I plucked a menu from the pristine white table cloth and perused it. All kinds of prestigious delicacies sang from the page in tones of a castrated falsetto on helium. It read:

-Lightly poached Madagascan Aye-aye on a bed of winter density .

-Braised Caribou in a Corncockle sauce.

-Pan-fried mbilical ord in blended truffles.

-Rice pudding (made with rice carved by the indigenous peoples of Madagascar)

And so it went.

Sat two places away from the eastern end of the table, I placed down my menu and as not unto my surprise, the mother, who was sat opposite me opened her saggy lip print. The gust of speech that emerged

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