We are all reconciled
I reckon I'm pretty much reconciled.
— You do?
Yep. I'm much more reconciled than I was last week.
— That's great. But I have a question.
Shoot.
— What is there to be reconciled about?
Where have you been? Reconciliation is all the go. I'm reconciled. You're reconciled. We are all reconciled. Oh, it's just lovely. Brings a tear to my eye it does. Give me a hug.
— Please!
I love you. I do.
— You're getting carried away.
Sorry.
— I should think so.
I am. I'm ever so sorry.
— That's OK.
I'm trooly and rooly sorry.
— No harm done.
It's all my fault. Can you ever forgive me.
— It's OK!
I apologise.
— Fine.
Is that all you can say? "Fine"?
— What do you want me to say?
If it's not too much to ask, maybe you could accept my apology?
— OK then.
Well?
— I accept your apology.
Now we're reconciled.
— We are?
Yes we are. Now we can move on.
— Great.
You wouldn't by chance be Aboriginal would you?
— No.
Not even the teeniest?
— Sorry. No.
What a pity. Because if you were I could reconcile with you and you could reconcile with me and it would be like the real thing.
— But you just told me you were sorry.
Ah, I was only practicing.
BY DAVE RILEY