Polite Company

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Polite Company.”

He pushed back on the rear feet of the dining table chair.

‘Well’, he said, ‘It’s never a good idea to discuss religion or politics with people you don’t really know. I could have predicted that happening.’

‘Oh shut up Ru, you’re such a fucking know it all. And just for the record, for once, you had no way of predicting that.’

Camilla got up from the table and headed toward the patio doors. In the distance she could just make out the brake lights of  his car as they drove out into the night.

The evening had started in good humour; drinks and chat on the lawn before a light, but delicious, supper and the usual debates that the old university friends always found themselves involved in. They always tried to meet at least once a year, and nothing much ever seemed to change.

Jamie had arrived last, and with his latest girlfriend in tow. Partners weren’t invited to these annual gatherings and, much to the annoyance of the others, Jamie had decided to change the rules. Eyebrows were raised, facetious comments were delivered – just out of earshot of the guest of course – and as people became more intoxicated, the conversation became debate, and the debate became more contentious.

There was nothing unusual about this of course, but this time, at this supper, something had changed.

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