“I have been maligned by a cryptic flash,” declaimed Tommy theatrically.
Gerald added a few pinches of salt.
“Taste! – I think that will do,” he said, offering a spoonful of the bright yellow sauce.
Tommy turned away in distaste.
“What is it now,” Gerald said.
“You never listen to me. All you care about is food – cooking and eating, cooking and eating!”
“Oh come off your huff. You like my cooking. And anyway, I’ve been listening all along.”
“I believe you were saying that someone, most likely your loving mother, said something about you behind your back that you didn’t like, and you found out about it somehow.”
“No! I said ‘maligned by a cryptic flash’! Does that sound like my mother? Or any real person for that matter? And it’s quite poetic, by the way. But you wouldn’t know, maker of curries.”
“Thank you, dear Thomasina, for putting me in my rightful place. But let me return the compliment and call you by your real name: flasher of malignant cryptics and soon-to-be eater of pungent elliptics and sensibly cut rhomboids.”
– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )
Woven around Cryptic, Flash and Malign as suggested by 3WW.