Finally! Bathos arrived! Frankly, I did not know that ladies could spew such impressive epithets, but upon seeing my captor, they erupted from Bathos' mouth like ash from Mount Etna. After explaining to Mr. Kenn how she found me (a tale which went on a tad too long, if truth be told), she plucked me from Lawn Ornament Hell, secured me beneath her arm and took me to her automobile which was idling in the driveway. Mr. Kenn followed her, bellowing that he deserved some type of remuneration for the bird (meaning me). As Bathos put the car into reverse, she answered that if she had eleven fingers, she'd gladly give him one, and with that, she drove off. I'm not sure what she meant, but in my mirror I could see Mr. Kenn shaking his fist at our departure.
We sat together in silence for many, many miles. On several occasions I tried to initiate a discussion of recent events, as I thought the journey might pass more quickly with some diversion, but Bathos simply ignored me. I knew that she was angry with me for attempting to flee, and so I stifled my good natured proclivity to prattle on about, well, anything. At one point we passed Michael Phelps' practice facility, but I dared not ask if we could stop for an autograph. Bathos was in too foul of a mood.
We will arrive home tomorrow. In the only instance on this journey that Bathos has deigned to speak to me, she assured me that she had devised a foolproof method to keep me in front of her home. As she was already perturbed, I thought it best not to point out that I am anything but a fool. Instead, I quietly welcomed her challenge, for my quest to find my flock shall never be thwarted.
Until tomorrow, I remain,
Ramon the Flamingo
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Ramon, To her credit, Bathos did not wear the olive green jumper that annoys you so. I'm thinking she's not as perturbed as you might think. In fact, I think she's grown rather fond of you. Meanwhile, what about Naomi?
ReplyDeleteFondly,
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