Day 11

Last night, exhausted from the Super Bowl festivities (and, perhaps, from just a small overabundance of a robust local ale), I fell into a deep and peaceful sleep on Marcelline's davenport. I was in the midst of a lovely dream about Nancy and a romantic dinner we shared at The Four Seasons when Marcelline roused me to start the day. She wanted to get an early start searching for my flock.

Marcelline recalled seeing a large flock of flamingos along the shores of Lake Michigan about fifteen kilometers north of the City. Although the day was frigid, I was warmed by the notion of reuniting with my dear friends. As we approached the village along the lake where Marcelline had seen the flock, I spotted a storefront that made my heart flutter! An antique store!

My friends, meandering aimlessly through a fine antique store is one of life's simple pleasures. One never knows what bauble or small treasure one might find. I asked Marcelline if she would mind making a small detour so we could visit the shop, and she kindly acquiesced. In fact, because the air was so terribly chilly, she allowed me to exit her vehicle at the shop entrance while she sought out a suitable parking space.

Marcelline must have had a difficult time finding a parking space because she was gone for a terribly long time. As my leg was weary, I found a cushy chaise upon which to rest close to a charming selection of antique lawn ornaments. Just then, a customer arrived (I'll call him "Mr. Kenn") who was seeking the perfect accoutrement for his summer lake home. Miss Fern, the shop proprietress, directed him toward the section of the shop in which I was resting. Mr. Kenn exclaimed, "A pink flamingo! How perfect!" I looked around hoping to spot another of my species when I realized that he was referring to me. Mr. Kenn then did the unthinkable: he picked me up, took me to the counter, and purchased me! As if I were a common chattel or decoration! And not only did I suffer the humiliation of being bought, but he actually bargained for me. Am I not worth the three dollars that Miss Fern the proprietress requested? Evidently not, for Mr. Kenn paid her two dollars and fifty cents, unceremoniously plopped me into a satchel, and took me away.

My friends, I have no idea to what miserable location I am being taken. I can only be thankful that the salmon colored satchel complements my winter plumage. And if you should see Bathos, please tell her that at this juncture I reluctantly require her assistance. Her haste would be greatly appreciated.

Until tomorrow, I remain,

Ramon the Flamingo