Carl and Gerlinde (XLIII)
”Well, you know, you and your ’Super Company TRIGA’ certainly hibernated through all and sundry, did’t you?”, Gerlinde smirked.
Her taunting grin said it all while she took a good sip from her evening glass of Riesling.
”What do you mean?“ Carl’s brains were totally elsewhere while he kept cautiously putting yet another layer of his much-loved tongue black sausage onto the slice of baguette, even though the mountain of sausage definitely already looked like it might collapse at any time… At long last, he took a bite! There was a short roar! And from one second to the next, he fell into some kind of rigor mortis …
”Shit“, he moaned, took his chin into his right hand and stared at Gerlinde with wide-open eyes.
“What is the matter with you?” a terrified Gerlinde, still not having finished the process of putting her glass to her mouth, asked him.
”Well, this was the second when another of my thousand-year-lasting amalgam fillings kissed me good-bye“!
“What a bugger – doesn’t that just fit? Tomorrow, you have to go to Munich really early!” – Gerlinde said while hastily drowning her last drop of Riesling.
“Fact is that now I have a crater the size of a meteorite hole I my mouth…“
“Where exactly?“
“In the back!“
“Where in the back?“
“Lower row!“
“Where in the lower row?“
“Right side!“
“Does it hurt?“
“No, the nerve ends have been dead for a long time”, Carl grunted while he allowed his tongue to circle around the freshly produced crater region like an exploration drone. “I must have chewed and swallowed the filling!“
“Great – amalgam in your stomach!“
“Perhaps! But I am sure it will not remain there very long”, Carl added after a short pause in surprisingly good spirits. And then he really relished eating the remainder of his frightened tongue blood sausage. Afterwards, he gave the new crater hole another rinse with Riesling and two glasses of fruit brandy, before again asking Gerlinde what she had meant when she had said this about TRIGA having hibernated.
“Did you really fail to notice the market opening that sprang out of nowhere for all underwear firms two days ago almost as suddenly as your hole in the tooth?”
“What market opening?” Carl asked hesitantly, quickly letting a third brandy disappear in his crater.
“Man – the huge hole in the skin-tight suit trousers Pep was wearing”!
“Do you mean Guardiola’s misfortune during the last Bayern match against FC Porto?“
“Well, if this was a misfortune, then you can call me Trinchen from now on, and you can pinch me here”, Gerlinde scoffed as she pointed towards her appetising neckline.
“And where would you say is the market opening about this Armani suit trousers rip?” Carl gurgled while he asked, since it seemed that the remainder of the fruit brandy had pulled back into his throat like a tsunami. …
“Well – just imagine”, Gerlinde instructed him, “what would have happened if this sad piece of black underwear that good old Pep Guardiola offered up to a then totally surprised audience of millions had been one not quite so sad piece of underwear designed by TRIGA?”
“And?” – Carl was still a little disoriented.
“Oh my God – are you really telling me you do not realize that these inconspicuous dark boxers the ’Hot Mister Guardiola’ was wearing could just as well have been an attractive ’net piece’ by TRIGA in glamorous ’Bavarian Red’?!”
“You mean at this unique moment of underwear happiness, good old Pep might well have been wearing one of our racy red ’men’s net bodies’ made by TRIGA? “
“That is exactly what I mean! How nice that, at long last, you now seem to be awake!“
“Women’s phantasies … “ Carl bleated.
“Possibly. But I can guarantee”, Garlinde enthused, “that the ’Bavaria-red net-trouser clad Pep’ would have been impossible to get off the “Bild” title page after this super win over Porto – and I am talking several days!“
”Wasn’t he on the title page, anyway”? Carl asked.
“But only for one day and not wearing TRIGA underwear. Instead, he wore some nameless black pair of jersey boxers… “ Gerlinde complained.
“Yet it was what everybody talked about … “, Carl grinned and self-confidently drowned his fourth fruit brandy in his lower right meteorite crater!
“Sure, but then all that talk never once included the name TRIGA, did it?”, Gerlinde kept taunting him while cautiously moving the fruit brandy bottle closer to the house bar.…
Carl gave her an annoyed look and asked if this sudden prohibitive activity against his brandy glass perhaps had something to do with hurt female pride?
“I certainly do not know what you are talking about, my dear Carl, but it seems to me that, in your particular instance, said fruit brandy already has had a strong negative influence on your capacity to think logically – which, after all, men are supposed to be able to do.“
“My dearest Gerlinde, this might well be true, but still it is beyond dispute that one small section of underwear worn by Guardiola actually almost got more media coverage than usually the common half-naked beauties on the title pages get? Isn’t that something to make the ladies thoughtful and violate their self-confidence? Or am I totally wrong here?”, Carl continued with persistent sympathy.
“My God, Carl”, Gerlinde pointedly replied, “you should not try and follow the deep thoughts of females. Instead, why don’t you come up with strategies for taking hold of this Pep as your new TRIGA ’Super Model’, before the board of directors at Bayern will drown him in leather trousers for reasons of morality… …“
“Yes, my dear Gerlind, that is what I will do. But only if you manage to convince Armani that the ’ripping suit pants’ are added to their regular sales program … “
Carl jeered with a heavy tongue, thanking God that, for the time being, the only thing he had to cope with was his injured dental outfit, rather than a ’female power overflowing with Gerlinde-ish ideas’ at TRIGA…
KH
(Translated by EG)
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