Proper Footwear and Cheese

The harridan met the alms woman at the church bazaar, who in turn met the bow-legged man who had run into the shamble leg man who was busy eating a smelt sandwich on pumpernickel bread, three slices, between each slice boned smelts soggy with fish oil. The harridan accused the shamble leg man of eating fish on a Sunday, a sin worse than buggery, and not wearing the appropriate footwear. The shamble leg man rebuked the harridan for being a sorry crone, offering what remained of his lunch to the bow-legged man, who was clearly in need of a proper scoff, even were it squelchy with oil and spittle. The alms woman removed her blouse over her head, catching her thumb in the selvage, and yawned, her mouth forming a perfect O. The shamble leg man said, ‘footwear and sandwiches and small oily fish, the makings of a fine and middling day indeed.’ The alms woman, having freed herself from the selvage said, in reply to the shamble leg man, but to no one in particular, ‘I much prefer sardines.’ The bow-legged man, with a hint of irritation to his basso voice, said, ‘Cheese, a Roquefort or a Camembert, aged cheddar or Colby, farmer’s cheese and anything blue, these I prefer, with smelts, of course, therein lies the key to a fine sandwich, smelts and cheese, any cheese, just don’t forget the cheese, dare I say, the key to a good…’ Before he could finish, the harridan, her sunbonnet sandwiched between her elbow and ribcage, yammered at the top of her lungs, ‘Shoes, for the love of God, what about proper footwear, have you no respect for the Sabbath, none at all, goodness me!’ The shamble leg man, not wanting the harridan to get in the last word said, ‘We, Madame, are Christian, not Jews.’ To which the alms woman replied, ‘Oh dear, a Jewish church bazaar, how strange indeed, indeed very strange indeed.’