Short Story: Nipples And Tai Chi

Short Story: Nipples And Tai Chi

"Aubergines!"

Kenny shouted the word so loudly that I almost dropped my lager. He had that manic look plastered onto his face.

"What?" I asked, bracing myself for the answer.

"Aubergines. Big purple things that look like slugs."

"Kenny, I know what they are. I just wondered why you shouted it out."

"Well," he said excitedly. "I should do one next."

"I'm not sure I should ask this, but how exactly do you 'do' an aubergine?" Kenny had clearly thought about this question long and hard. His answer came swiftly.

"Vaseline," he grinned.

"Pardon?"

"Or KY Jelly," he acknowledged. "You could use either. An aubergine's not likely to complain about the type of lubricant used, is it?"

"I suppose not," I said, shaking my head in bewilderment.

"Good," Kenny smiled. "So you'll help me tonight?"

"Help you," I gulped. "How?"

Kenny came over all conspiratorial and beckoned me closer. He clearly didn't want anyone else in the Three Dogs to hear.

"Bring your camera and take some photographs," he whispered. "It'll be fun."

"Look Kenny," I protested, hoping that we hadn't been overheard. "I'm a married man. Being alone with you, an aubergine, a tub of lubricant and a camera; well, it isn't right."

This seemed to anger Kenny.

"Are you suggesting that I'm some kind of pervert who distributes photographs of men and vegetables?" As he spoke he waved his arms like an epileptic scarecrow. People were looking at us. I tried to placate him.

"Kenny, remember how embarrassed you were with that cucumber? I can still see the accusing look on the face of the judge. Do you remember what she said?"

Kenny thought for a moment, his eyes distant. Nodding his head in acceptance he mumbled, "I felt humiliated. That cucumber brought tears to my eyes."

"I know it did, mate," I said, patting him on the shoulder. "You never told me why you did it."

"It was that film," he confessed. "The one with nipples and Tai Chi."

"This isn't one of your specialist films, is it?" I warily asked.

Kenny shook his head vigorously. "No," he insisted. "It's got Helen Mirren in it. Calendar Girls."

"Calendar Girls?" I repeated, shaking my head in confusion.

"In that film," Kenny explained, "They didn't bake a cake, they bought one from M & S and it won. I thought I could do the same with a cucumber."

I nodded considerately. "But you made some fundamental mistakes, Kenny. Not the least of which was that you forgot to remove the stickers."

"And the polythene sheath," added Kenny.

"Well you might, if the judge had been particularly incompetent, got away with the polythene sheath, but the stickers were a problem. Having a sticker which says 'Aldi - driving prices down' on a cucumber entered into the Grassington Show was always going to cause problems. You must realise that." I took a long drink from my pint.

"I do," Kenny accepted. "That's why an aubergine is a good option for the next show. It's not got a sheath or stickers. It just needs to look shiny."

"For which you need the lubricant, " I sighed.

Kenny was ecstatic. "I knew you'd see my point of view," he enthused. "And we can take pictures to compare it with other aubergines, to make sure it looks perfect. I've got to get it right this time. I want a rosette."

I drained my pint and reluctantly put the empty glass down. "Kenny," I conceded, "I'll go get my camera."