The blue wax undulated lasciviously inside the lamp-base, shifting through periwinkle and prussian before climaxing in indigo.
“Nonsense Arthur, it’s relaxing.”
She was right. Observing the lamp, he’d slip into a deep slumber, punctuated only by the thunderous snoring that had driven her from his bed.
The wax would agitate rhythmically with his snores, until one night, gathering momentum, it eased the steel cap from the lamp, and pulsated down the table-leg before slithering quietly towards the bed.
Next morning Arthur’s wife discovered he’d turned the most perfect shade of oxford blue. He wouldn’t have liked that… he was always a cambridge man.
For my American friends at Friday Fictioneers, you can substitute Yale and UCLA for Oxford and Cambridge. 🙂