The Repressives Challenge the Utilities

Our couple take a stance against modern utilities.
Make sure you read their introductory story, below, first!
Also, I apologize for the paragraph spacing, but the two Repressives story's are bugged, and I can't get them to have normal spacing. It occurs to me I may have to learn HTML to fix it. NOOOoooooooo!

The Repressives Challenge The Utilities

"Good evening Clod," commented Prissensia, her eyes focused on her hands as her dexterous fingers wove the intricate dance that was knitting. She was making candle-cozys for their many solid-brass candlesticks.

Clod waggled his mustachio as a pleasant response. The evening post was carefully laid out next to his recliner, and he collapsed into it, letting the fireplace warm him.

"Indeed, my good lady-wife," replied Clod. "And how are you, this fine evening? Is your consumption treating you well?"

"Oh, excellently, my dear husband. I've stained three handkerchiefs already today. I'll have to make some more to keep up."

"Charming, charming," replied Clod. "Let's see what's in the paper today. Mmm. yes. Interesting. It looks like the Higgins's blew themselves up today. Another gas lighting incident. It seems Biffy Higgins was trying to heat the boiler and his beagle terrier mistook his coat-tails for a chew-toy. The dog bit his butt, and he knocked the boiler over, and the whole thing exploded!"

"Oh dear," said Prissy, looking at her pattern.

"Yes. Almost as terrible as the Winston's incinerating their three-story last Wednesday when their cat's velvet coat caught fire, or the Brigands's town-house exploding the week before when their parakeet flew right into the gas oven and then detonated. That one took out a whole city block."

"Shocking," replied Prissy as she assessed how much yarn she had left. "I"m so glad we don't have gas or pets," she said thoughtfully. "Modern conveniences are such a burden."

"Well, exactly." Clod flipped the pages

"I do wish those Reprehensibles would blow themselves up, though. This is the third time Chastity Reprehensible has invited me to tea, and not had smelling salts on hand when I needed to revive from fainting. They are the social pariahs of our block," said Prissy, frowning slightly.

"All in good time, dear. All in good time. Speaking of which, it's time to make toilet." Clod set his paper down, and got up and walked over to the corner. Micturation was soon in progress.

"Clod, that's the spittoon. The chamber pot is in the kitchen."

"Oh, yes. I keep forgetting. Is it free? Or are there still dishes to be washed?"

The Repressives

And now for a short, satirical interlude:

The Repressives

Clod Repressive sat down to the small, round table, overflowing with flowered china, scones, and lemon curd, and nodded to his good lady-wife, but never took his eyes off the neatly folded and pressed London Times that was set at his place.

"Good morning, Prissensia. I hope the day finds you well." Clod waggled his mustachio slightly in anticipation of the day's news.

"Yes, Clod, it does. Thank you. I notice you are one and one-half minutes late in breaking your fast. Is something amiss?" Prissy never took her eyes off the cup of tea she was delicately sipping, pinkie properly pointing at a near right angle to her other digits.

"I beg your forgiveness, dear lady-wife. Mullberry aligned my shoes improperly, and I nearly tripped over a spat. Remind me to bring it up with him later."

"Of course. I noticed he neglected to polish your penny collection this month. Do you think we should dock his pay?" Prissy set her tea-cup down, and broke off a piece of a scone, about the size of her thumb. She then took a butter knife and placed a tiny sliver of butter onto the oversized crumb and a pin-head sized dollop of marmalade on it, as well. Prissy brought the scone up to her nose and breathed deeply, savoring its smell, her nostrils fluttering slightly. Then she dropped it into the trash.

"Miss Veritable has done an excellent job with the scones, this morning," noted Prissensia. It was, of course, a pity that her corset precluded actually eating anything.

"Indeed," agreed Clod. "Have you seen the notice in the paper? Victoria Williams is engaged to Percival Armsmatter. The wedding is expected this spring. I was under the impression her parents were sending her to a convent."

"They did. Father Armsmatter was the priest who sponsored her. Apparently she gives very inspiring confessions." Prissy swept some crumbs off the pure white linen table cloth, and sprinkled them into the trash.

"I see. Speaking of which, would you like to procreate this morning?" mentioned Clod as he poured over the financial section.

"Oh, I don't see why not."

"Excellent."

"Ah"

"AH"

"AHH!"

"So, what should we get the couple?" commented Clod as he straightend his tie.

"Oh, I believe a solid silver sauce separator should meet the required standards," replied Prissy as she adjusted her feather hat, slightly.

"Splendid idea," concluded Clod. "Splendid."