“Help!”I shrieked and just in case the alien life forms two billion light years from here hadn’t heard, “Help!” again. The Muse popped out looking dishevelled and disorientated. Her hair was in rainbow coloured curlers and she was wearing a bright pink satin negligee. I noticed yards of ruffles and purple sequins.
“What in the name of all that is sacred is the matter with you? You are screaming loudly enough to wake the dead three continents over.” She looked at me with narrowed eyes.
“I’ve lost it,” I snivelled.
“You are always losing your mind, only to find that it is exactly where it was before you started using it, on top of your neck, encapsulated by your skull,” she said angrily.
“No, not my mind, a word, I have lost a word.”
“A word? All of this for a word?” She planted her fists in her sides, a sure sign that things would be detonating pretty soon. I cowered and looked for the nearest titanium lined bomb shelter.
“You woke me up and interrupted a hot, sexy dream. I was giving George Clooney a lap dance. You know, like this…,” she said as she gyrated.
“The mind boggles,” I said, meaning every word.
“That’s exactly what George said,” she answered earnestly. Sarcasm never seemed to hurt her, instead it rolled off her back and landed with a plop at my feet, where it screamed in futility.
“Can we please get back to the task at hand?”
“Which one was that, dear? Refresh my memory; my thoughts are currently a bit stuck on Georgie, hmmmm,” she said, licking her lips lasciviously. I shuddered, my imagination perhaps a little too visual.
I sighed melodramatically, “The lost word of course.”
“You really need to be more specific, dear,” she said and rolled her eyes at me.
“If I knew which one I was looking for I wouldn’t have screamed HELP, now would I?”I asked employing sarcasm again with exactly the same results. This time they looked up at me and said:
“You don’t learn, do you?”
Check out these lost words: http://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2013/oct/09/mark-forsyth-the-horologicon-top-10-lost-words