Round pegs, Square pegs

Mrs Butterburg was looking out the window, playing her favourite game, square pegs, round pegs. She noticed Mr Brown across the road leaving for work; it was quarter past eight. At nine-fifteen, young Terry, the window cleaner, would turn up; it usually took him ten minutes to do the outside windows and an hour to do the inside. Mrs Butterburg put the two round pegs into the round holes; they fitted nicely. She placed the square peg beside them, awaiting her attention. Mr Brown got the message two days later. The following week, he was watching from a distance. Mrs Butterburg watched him entering the house; it was nine-forty. At nine forty-three, six shots rang out, killing them both. Mrs Butterburg put the square peg into the square hole.

The game was interrupted by her son visiting, minus the wife and children. It was always the same excuse, too busy. He stayed the usual seventeen minutes. 

Mrs Butterburg noticed old Mrs Grey across the road struggling down her path grabbing at the safety rail heading towards a taxi. Probably a hospital appointment, she thought. It would be nice if old Mrs Grey stayed a few weeks in hospital, getting pampered. She placed the round peg into the round hole; it fitted nicely. She placed the square peg beside it, awaiting her attention. 

A week later, old Mrs Grey was leaving for another trip to the hospital. The taxi driver noticed her grabbing the safety rail, and the safety rail collapsing, pulling her down onto the concrete. It was a devastating fall, killing her outright.

On hearing the news, Mrs Butterburg placed the square peg into the square hole.

The game was interrupted by her son visiting, minus the wife and children. It was always the same excuse, too busy. He stayed the usual seventeen minutes.

Mrs Butterburg noticed her daughter-in-law always drove the same route to work, always using the steep hill as a shortcut

She placed the round peg into the round hole; it fitted nicely. She placed the square peg beside it, awaiting her attention.