Tark And Mara Tackle Global Inequality

Tark And Mara Tackle Global InequalityAll was quiet in Tark and Mara’s penthouse (in the most ruinously expensive borough of Dublin city) save a seductive hum of contentment. Mara was reclining on her brand-new 16th century fainting couch following her weekly meal, languorously turning the pages of a glossy magazine. Tark had been miming at the baby grand piano for twenty minutes. Nobody could mime the piano quite like Tark. It was one of the reasons he was so popular at parties.

A promo on the 76-inch wall-mounted, razor-thin flatscreen caught Tark’s eye. He halted his silent rendition of Tchaikovsky’s Chanson Triste.

“There! I knew it. Another one on BBC2.”

“Another what, darling?”

Mara set aside the magazine to redirect her attention to her husband, peering at him regally through a bejewelled pince-nez.

“Another documentary targeting the super-rich, my pickled lemon,” he said. He waved at the TV, where the programme titles were embossed upon a dated pinstripe suit wielding an axe. “This one’s called ‘Revenge of the 99%: Robbing The Rich, The Rich Man’s Way’.”

“That’s disgusting!” Mara sniffed, quite fabulously. “Who made this documentary? Surely not the BBC? I mean, isn’t that like setting your own arse on fire just to run a bit faster for five seconds?”

“One and the same. But it is food for thought.”

“Good Lord, Tark. You’re surely not going to watch this sort of brain-washing drivel? How could you possibly support it?”

“It’s not about support, my poison sea urchin. It’s about business opportunities.”

Tark And Mara Tackle Global Inequality

“I beg your pardon?”

Tark swivelled on the piano stool before unfurling his five-foot four frame into a vertical position and striding away, his hands clasped behind his back.

“They say that to steal from the rich, you have to treat them they way the rich treat the poor. You take things away from them, but pretend it’s for their own good.”

“But I don’t understand. We are the rich!”

“I know we’re rich, darling. But are we super-rich?”

Mara thought sadly of the €100,000 couture stockings she spotted in Milan in November. She recalled – her throat catching at the memory – how she had been forced to concede that, given the likelihood of them running a ladder, and the unlikelihood of anyone in Dublin realising how much she’d paid for them, she was better off spending the money on two dresses and a half-pair of shoes instead.

“No,” she said miserably. “We are not super-rich, husband.”

Tark placed his steepled fingers to his mouth and surprised his wife with a wink. A wink! From the man with demonic eyebrows who never smiled! What was he up to?

“But would you like to be?”

“Of course,” said Mara, wanting desperately to frown, but being utterly forbidden, as always, by cosmetic-grade botulism. “Whatever you’re up to, Tark, spit it out. Don’t toy with me.”

“Don’t you see?” said Tark, clapping his hands. “This is how we become the super-rich! We take money away from the one-percenters, but we pretend it’s good for them!”

Tark And Mara Tackle Global Inequality

Mara laughed humourlessly. “Ingenious, Tark. But even you couldn’t manage that. The 1% will never fall for it. Only the poor are daft enough to fall for the ‘because it’s good for you’ line. How else did we manage to get away with the notion that taxing the rich would suffocate the economy?”

Tark stuck his hands into the pockets of his unicorn-hair smoking jacket, facing his wife squarely.

“Darling, who managed to make a £200,000 handbag made of brown paper the must-have accessory of 2007?”

“You did,” said Mara.

“And who popularised 2009’s smash-hit €1,000,000 dental treatment by convincing the world that there were waiting lists, unless one was connected to royalty in either Japan or Saudi Arabia?”

“You did, darling,” said Mara, excitement now audible in her voice.

“Precisely. Now you see, my vicious little herring’s tooth. You don’t steal from the rich by just taking from them. You steal from them by giving them something worthless, and charging them handsomely for it.”

Tark And Mara Tackle Global Inequality

Mara stood up from fainting couch and walked to the bookshelves by the north window which housed her collection of Hermès handbags, running a finger lovingly along her favourite vintage Birkin.

“You’re talking about luxury goods.”

Tark nodded approvingly. “After all, we’ve already set six trends since nine o’clock this morning. I predict that I can have our first billion banked by the last Friday in February, if I call up Angelina and Brad now and ask them to endorse my new and exclusive range of hand-knitted anti-terrorism spectacles.”

“But how can you be sure they’ll go for it?”

Tark raised his left (and most demonic) eyebrow. “They will, when I tell them that not only are they the must-have accessory for the freedom-loving celebrity, but they are also made by an autonomous commune of formerly subjugated women in the Gobi Desert.”

Mara looked off into the distance, and a glittering future of long-lasting expenditure upon non-durable goods.

“And let me guess,” she said breathily. “Anyone not wearing these spectacles hates freedom—”

“And is a potential terrorist, yes,” said Tark.

He strode over to his wife and turned her face down to his for a self-satisfied kiss. “After all,” he smirked, “why have millions when you could have billions? Hmmm?”

Tark And Mara Tackle Global Inequality

  26 comments for “Tark And Mara Tackle Global Inequality

  1. January 26, 2015 at 11:38 am

    Haha. Magnificent.

    I’ve seen those hand-knitted spectacles somewhere. Oh no, I’m getting them mixed up with a balaclava.


    • January 26, 2015 at 11:42 am

      Uh-oh. My secret’s out. I was hoping to release the balaclavas secretly. A guerilla balaclava attack, as it were. And now your astute powers of deduction have ruined my billion-euro business plan. Curses!

      Liked by 1 person

  2. January 26, 2015 at 11:54 am

    Brill!!! Love the piano miming…i do this all the time on my neighbour’s piano.


    • January 26, 2015 at 1:31 pm

      But that’s terribly sad. Have you no piano of your upon which to mime?!

      Liked by 2 people

      • January 26, 2015 at 1:43 pm

        No, I think having one would force me to learn to play and I think I ‘look better’ at piano playing when I am miming….lots of closing of the eyes, rolls of head and swaying..

        Liked by 1 person

  3. johanna buchanan
    January 26, 2015 at 11:55 am

    Love it. Wish I was Tark, with all his ingenious little ways.


    • January 26, 2015 at 1:30 pm

      I wish I was Tark too. Writing his successes feels like failure. 😉


  4. carolannwrites
    January 26, 2015 at 7:33 pm

    Where does Tark dream up these terms of endearment?!! They’re amazing. Oh, to have a man who could call me such darling names! 😉


    • January 26, 2015 at 10:33 pm

      I’m sure it could be arranged, Carolann. Tark should have the Lexicon Of Prickly Endearments ready for the 2015 Christmas market. I could get him to autograph you a copy?


  5. January 27, 2015 at 2:54 pm

    Reblogged this on theowlladyblog.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. January 27, 2015 at 9:47 pm

    I love this pair. I am pretty sure I know how you named them. You paint a lovely picture of their home life. A little different to my own…

    Liked by 1 person

    • January 27, 2015 at 10:43 pm

      Yes, but almost a carbon copy of my home life, Conor, as I’m sure you know. Just don’t hate us because we’re beautiful. We find that quite exhausting.

      Liked by 1 person

      • January 27, 2015 at 10:45 pm

        Admiration is all I feel. With a slight twinge of jealousy, of course.


        • January 27, 2015 at 10:47 pm

          OMG, that’s exactly what we were aiming for! Lovely. You’ll be a shoo-in to inspire Mara’s weekly meal. Or monthly; it’s nearly Lent…

          Liked by 1 person

    • January 28, 2015 at 5:25 am

      How did she name them? I’m a little afraid since I share a name, though I think that’s about all I share. I’ve got the stockings she longed for because she’s only rich…


      • January 28, 2015 at 9:11 am

        I’m afraid I can’t divulge that, Mara II. It is a closely-guarded secret known only to about 8,803 Irish people. Sorry. But as you are super-rich enough to possess house-priced hosiery, you should get over it relatively soon.

        Liked by 1 person

        • January 28, 2015 at 3:35 pm

          Ah, well. I’m off to buy some Kerrygold to drown my curiosity in calories.

          Liked by 1 person

  7. January 28, 2015 at 5:23 am

    I certainly hope that Mara’s meal involved copious amounts of butter. Really, perhaps she just had a plate full by itself. If you’re only going to eat once a week, shouldn’t it be butter? And I hear Irish butter is extra delicious–Kerrygold, grass-fed cows, from Ireland. I think it’s about $7 a pound at my local market. I might need Tark to knit me some sweaters for my Irish butter obsession.


    • January 28, 2015 at 9:14 am

      Mara hasn’t had butter since 1983, I believe. Although she did bathe in it once. That was Kerrygold, too, but it’s cheaper in Dublin, so she lost interest. I’ll speak to Tark about the sweaters, but I think he’s more into silk painting these days.


  8. January 29, 2015 at 4:49 pm

    Chuckled as I read. How funny…yet how true.


    • January 29, 2015 at 5:03 pm

      As long as there’s no angry mob waiting to attack me for making fun of repression, I’m happy. 😉


  9. February 2, 2015 at 6:44 pm

    Brilliant! I missed this when it was posted owing to a WordPress snafu blocking my emails. I’m so glad I wandered backwards and found it.

    Liked by 1 person

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