Aggie and Shuggie 24

 

Aggie:	Shuggie!
Shuggie:	Whir’s tha fire?
Aggie:	Maggie, you an aw.
Maggie:	Whit’s up, Ma?
Aggie:	Tha postie’s jist deliffered oor Jim’s noo book.
Maggie:	Unca Jim’s goat a noo book oot?
Aggie:	Christ lassie. Af ye didne spend haff yer life plugged intae yoan iPoad ye might huf haffa cloo whit’s goin oan in tha real world wance an a while.
Shuggie:	Whit’s tha oan tha cover. Did Jim spill sumhin oan it befair e sent it tae us? Ah bet tha’s a naff wan e cudne floag an so e sent it tae us.
Aggie:	Shuggie, you can be a first class numtie. Nuhin’s bin spilt oan it. Tha’s tha pitcha.
Maggie:	Whit is it, Ma?
Maggie:	At’s wan o them Rorshack inkbloats.
Shuggie:	Cum again?
Aggie:	At’s wan o them pitchas psycholagists use t’see af yer daft or no.
Maggie:	Whit d’ye dae wi it?
Aggie:	Ye look at it an say whit ye see.
Shuggie:	Ah see an inkbloat.
Aggie:	Ah see an awkward pig.
Maggie:	Whur’s the pig?
Aggie:	Ah meant yer faither.
Shuggie:	Raight wumman. Enuff o tha.
Maggie:	At looks like two wimmen talkin.
Aggie:	Aye, Ah cun see tha. So whit’s tha hing inbetween em? At looks like a fox’s heed.
Shuggie:	See us it ower ere.
Aggie:	Wull?
Shuggie:	Dinnae rush me.
Aggie:	Yer suppaised tae say tha first hing tha comes intae yer brain.
Shuggie:	At looks like a willie.
Maggie:	Da!
Shuggie:	Wull it dis! A wee willie. Wull tha’s whit Ah see. Did ye look it up oan tha Intraweb?
Maggie:	Hang oan, Da, Ah’m jist daein it.
Shuggie:	An…?
Maggie:	Ah cun oanly see wan refyoo af it so far? Dave King.
Shuggie:	Dave who?
Aggie:	You know Dave King, Shuggie, tha nice auld bloke whit dis Pics an Poyems.
Maggie:	Ma! You don say ‘auld’ these days. Tha’s no politikly correct.
Aggie:	Wull whit then?
Maggie:	Yous’re suppaised tae say ‘chroanoloagiclly challenged.’
Shuggie:	Don’t talk tripe, girl. Oanyway, whit’s e goat t’say?
Maggie:	E hinks it looks like a wumman’s doodah.
Shuggie:	A whit? At’s a willie af effer Ah’ve seen wan – a willie oan a stick . . . mibbe.
Aggie:	Wull aw Ah cun say at’s a guid hing the wee white van wi the square wheels isne pearked ootside oor door oar they’d be haulin you aff, Shuggie.
Shuggie:	At’s no ma fault oor Jim puts hings oan is books tha people can’t make heed nor tail af.
Maggie:	Mibbie we shud gie Unca Jim a phone un see whit e says.
Aggie:	Tha’s a guid idea. Shuggie, you dae it.
Shuggie:	[Grudgingly] Fine. [Dials. Waits.] Jim? Ah, Shuggie ere. Ow’s it hangin? . . . Fine. Us too. Look we jist goat yer new poemtry book an at an we wis wunnerin whit’s the cover aw aboot. . . . Uh, huh. . . . Uh, huh. . . . Ah, see. . . . Okay, hanks mate. Catch ye later.
Aggie:	So?
Shuggie:	At’s whiteffer we want it t’be.
Aggie:	Wull, tha’s no much help.
Shuggie:	Nah at’s no. Maggie, goan an make us a cuppa tea, hen.
Maggie:	Awraight, Da.
Shuggie:	Ah jist ope is poyems’re betta than is pitchas.