Pre-prandial

As oil and vinegar only combine after vigorous shaking, such as is required for successful vinaigrette, we invariably took time to come to homogeneity each time we met.   Too much time; our differences on each successive meeting seeming greater.  Thus on that particular evening we’d sat across the table from each other, unspeaking.  Drinking the speedily-delivered Merlot but, having ordered, choices made,  now saying nothing.  True, not only because of our own mutual difficulties, but also because the conversation of the couple on the table beside us – we were separated by a heavy curtain which maybe they mistakenly believed was soundproof – concerned an unholy and compelling liaison; a twinning of politics and piety.  Only when the name – names – of those concerned was mentioned did you speak, and only then with your fingers, in a gesture that indicated your clear desire to see the speaker garrotted at the first possible opportunity, underlining your intention to do the job yourself with the production from your pocket of a skein of piano wire.   

[garrotted, vinaigrette, unholy - Prompt 81 for House of Writers]