"I understand he was survived by two children, a boy and a girl,
yes?"
"Well, I wouldn't quite call them that any more. They were, last time
I saw them, but now they're middle aged. In fact, Francine is happily
married with three children of her own, and Ferdinand the Fifth has been
married and divorced."
"Oh. What do they do? Are they going to take over the
business?"
"I doubt it. Francine wants to stay at home and take care of the
kids, and her husband makes enough money that she can afford to. Ferdinand
the Fifth is quite happy at the Smithsonian, and doesn't care much for
money. His father wanted him to go into the business, but there was bad
blood between them over his wife. I suppose he might take over the
business now, though."
(The two do not notice the woman chatting with someone else nearby,
suddenly falling silent. Her friend, however, does notice that she is now
listening intently to the two men.)
"Oh my. What was the bad blood about?"
"He's a very jealous sort. She and his father became very good
friends, and in fact still are. He thought his father was trying to take
her away from him. She tried to convince him otherwise, and as far as
anyone knows, there was never anything improper between her and his
father. But he grew crueler and crueler, and eventually, she left
him."
"Ouch. Well, enough about that. What does he do at the Smithsonian? I
imagine it's a fascinating place to work."
"So I've heard. He's a paleontologist."
"Fascinating. So he gets to go out in the field and dig up bones, and
hobnob with cool people like Bob Bakker and Stephen Jay
Gould?"
"He used to, but these days, he spends most of his time in the
laboratory, analyzing coprolites."
"Copper-whats?"
"Not copper, copro. Coprolites. They're, basically, well...
fossilized pieces of dinosaur, ummm... droppings."
At this point, the woman who had been listening turns around.
"And I must say," she says, with a slightly slurred British
accent, "it suits him well. I certainly couldn't do such a
job. In fact, I don't know what I ever saw in that little turd. Hi, I'm
that ex-wife you were talking about."
"Uh, hi."
"Hello."
"Before I left, he tried everything he could to make me miserable. He
killed my pets and plants, would reformat my computer and throw away the
backups, write nasty comments in my web site's guestbook, everything.
Especially if his dad would give me any gifts, even just ordinary birthday
or Christmas gifts."
"Well, at least you're out of that situation now," said the
mourner who knew her ex-father-in-law.
"Not entirely. Ever since I was a little girl, I loved huckleberries.
Ever since even before I could pronounce such a big word. I called them
'huckies' then. I would ask for huckleberry pie for dessert, I got towels
decorated with them, etc.
One year, for Christmas, his father gave me a comb and brush set, in
sterling silver, decorated with huckleberries. The comb had five along
each side, and the brush had five up the handle, and ten more on the back.
I used it every day. They were my favorite comb and brush. I brushed my
hair with that one every morning and every night before bed, and I carried
that comb with me most places. But they were among the things I had to
leave behind when I finally couldn't take any more of his abuse, and
left."
"I'm afraid I don't quite understand. You're don't live with him any
more, you've gotten a divorce, you're away from him, in fact he's not even
here today. How are you not out of that situation?"
"He uses them at work, in a very degrading manner. He sweeps up the
samples with my brush, and uses my comb to... well...
you know what he does at work, right?"
"Yes, but I don't see how a comb would be terribly useful
there."
"You see, to prepare some of the samples, he has to mix them with a
sort of pickling solution. And <sniff> he uses
<sob> my comb to stir it!"
"Oh, how awful!"
"Yes, truly sadistic!"
"But that's not the worst of it! I think he chose that particular way
to hurt me, because he knows I hate puns!"
"Eh? I don't quite get it."
"The father was a dear, sweet man, but
the son brines shite on my old ten-huckie comb!"
