Creative Comedy Project
Missing Khakis By Douglas Forrest
That was part of the problem; me being a squaddie. Being Scottish didn’t help either. Her world was different. Ex public school whatever that meant. Didn’t mean we couldn’t get on but sometimes we didn’t understand one another.
Take the time she asked, “Have you seen my khakis?”
When you spend every working day dressed in khaki as in khaki trousers, khaki shirt, khaki jumper, the only thing that’s not khaki is the beret; it’s black.
“What hea ye lost lass?”
“I beg your pardon!”
“Ye telt me ye’d lost yer khakis. Whit exactly are ye looking for? Breeks, a jecket, sark or whit?”
“God Jamie, I have no idea what you are talking about. Please can you speak English.”
“Clarissa, hen, Ahm trying tae speak English. Ah really am, but it’s you. Yer just no getting through tae me.”
“I don’t see the problem. I asked you a simple straight forward question. Have you seen my khakis? I can’t find them anywhere.”
I could see she was getting annoyed. “Whar did you see them last? In yer wardrobe maybe?”
“Oh! for God sake Jamie, you can be so exasperating at times. Why the hell would I put my khakis in my wardrobe. I don’t wear the bloody things.”
“Well, whit the hell dae ye dae wi them? The only khakis I hae, I wear tae ma wark!”
“Jamie, this whole conversation is doing my head in. All I asked is if you’ve have you seen my khakis. The lest you could do is help me look for them.”
“Whar wid ye like me tae luk?”
“I think it will take more than luck to find them. I’ve turned the whole place upside down.”
My mind was going into overdrive. I was trying to remember anything that I’d seen her with that was khaki. Nothing came to mind. I began to look around the room.
“Will you get off your ass and look. We need to get going if you are to get back in time.”
I glanced at my watch, “Aye, that’s right. It’s getting late. Can ye no just drive me tae the camp an luk for yer khakis when yea get back.”
Clarissa threw down her hand bag and glared at me. “You are a total moron Jamie? How the hell am I supposed to drive you back to camp if I don’t have my khakis. Surely even someone as thick as you could work that one out.”
“Listen hen, Ah don’t like being caad thick. Just because I dunna hae a plumby bloody accent fea wan o’ yon posh schools disna mak me thick, see. Ah’m awa tae catch the bus. Ah’l leave ye tae luk fur yer khakis. I just hope ye find them.”
With that I grabbed my jacket and left. It was only when I was reaching into my pocket to pay my fare that I felt them; her car keys.
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