God Save the Queen

I declare, Alice, Aunt Pearl casually remarked to my grandmother over toast and morning coffee, One of those tattoo places opened in Digby. 

No good will come of it, Nana replied with a disapproving frown, Mark my words.

Mother of Mercy, Aunt Vi cringed, All those needles, I can't imagine.

Miss Hilda, not a frequent morning guest but she had been in the neighborhood for what she called her morning constitutional, rapped her spoon sharply against her coffee cup.

God save the queen, ladies, she said tartly once she had all their attention, but I hardly think a tattoo parlor, though certainly a doubtful and ill conceived career choice, will mean the end of mainland civilization.  She added cream and sugar to her coffee, drank, and then smiled grimly.  Such as it is, of course, she added, Such as it is.

Nana lit a Kent 100 and exhaled smartly.

Just a step away from a pool hall, Hilda, she said with a self-righteous shrug.

A regular den of iniquity, Vi agreed, but with needles.

Do be reasonable, Viola, Hilda reprimanded her with a long suffering sigh, Have you the remotest personal experience with a den of iniquity?

She's thinking of opium dens, Aunt Pearl said mildly and patted her sister's arm encouragingly, She loves reading those Sir whats-his-name Sherlock Holmes stories.

Mr. Holmes, Hilda snapped, was a devotee of cocaine, my dear, and he rarely frequented opium dens.  If you must contribute, I must insist you make every attempt to be historically accurate.  And might I point out, that Mr. Holmes was a fictional protagonist, woven entirely from Sir Arthur's highly adventurous and eloquent imagination.

The point, Nana said darkly, ain't fiction, Hilda, and it don't matter who wrote the damn stories.  A tattoo parlor ain't got no business in Digby.  Halifax, maybe, as citified as those folks are, but not Digby.  She waved her cigarette as if to dismiss the entire matter and gave Pearl a truculent see-what-you-started glare.

Miss Hilda stood, adjusted the shoulder pads of her tweed jacket and snatched her riding crop.

What bloody rot, she said briskly, I'll be off then, shall I.  Pray continue without me.  

And so we shall, my grandmother announced tiredly as her boot steps echoed across the linoleum and out the back door, Kee-rist, but that woman can be a pain in the ass with her God Save the Queen manners and upper crust airs!

Needles, Aunt Vi said with a shiver, I can't imagine.  But a pool hall might be fun.

Viola!  the two women scolded in harmony, then all three laughed and Aunt Vi blushed all the way to her roots.