'After the Pyg dumped Gwendoline' by Jude Higgins

Gwendoline had partaken of too much ale. Her voice was slurred.
   ‘I wyll neuer bye the pyg in the poke,’ she said.
 ‘Thers many a foule pyg in a feyre cloke.’

‘That’s bollocks,’ Amber said ‘You met that pyg on Tinder. And told me you swiped right, just because of his looks.’

Gwendoline poured more ale into her tankard.
  ‘Vnknowen, vnkyst, and beinge knowen I weene,
Thou art neuer kyst, where thou mayst be seene.’

Amber poured herself a vodka.
  ‘So what you’re saying is, if you don’t put yourself out there, no one will snog you?’

Gwendoline laid her head on the table.
  ‘That shalbe, shalbe. but all that shulde be:
Shal not be, nor hath ben, as far as I se,’ she mumbled.

Amber put the toaster on.
  ‘You’re doing my head in,’ she said. ‘Basically he’s a pyg, that’s all there is to it. We better get some food inside you.’ She brought out a pot of peanut butter but Gwendoline looked puzzled and said she only knew of butter made from cows, where she came from.
 
‘And which century would that be?’ Amber said. She spread honey on Gwendoline’s toast.  Gwendoline began to cry.
  ‘A frende is neuer knowne tyll a wiman haue neeed.’

Amber hugged her.
   ‘No worries,’she said and switched on the TV so they could watch Fleabag on iPlayer.  ‘It’s about friendship but there’s also a hot priest.’

Gwendoline didn’t understand how the priest had become hot. Had he been riding too long on his horse? But she agreed that it was better to watch a comedy with tragedy thrown in, about a wiman and her failed relationship with a hot priest than a wiman and a man who behaved like a pyg.