She finished the tune she was tooting (a real toe-tapper, by the way) and stood back and assessed the length and girth of her cousin's alpenhorn, "you should get a harmonica, cuz'."
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She finished the tune she was tooting (a real toe-tapper, by the way) and stood back and assessed the length and girth of her cousin's alpenhorn, "you should get a harmonica, cuz'."
Emily awoke as the dull yellow sun rose from the North Sea mist into the tired old sky of England, "Damn you snore alot Pierre, it's actually gotten worse since you left Equitorial Guinea".
"Crotchety woman," he responded as he turned in his seat on the airplane, bound for Switzerland, and eyed the alpehnhorn as it stuck out from overhead storage "you're only here because you blow so good."
Emily gave Pierre a sidelong glance while sliding her bubble wand into the sudsy blue bottle in her lap. Feeling a bit uncomfortable, she hoped drinks would be served shortly.
On landing at Zurich airport, Emily discovered that the alpenhorn was missing.
"Oh crap, not again," said Emily, " ah well, good thing I stored my hurdy-gurdy under the seat in front of me."
The following day, Emily left her hotel and went to open an account at UBS with the intention of transferring and changing her Jersey based Euros into Swiss francs.
She did this in such a way as to suggest perfect functional knowledge of Swiss financial operations as well as the French language before heading into the fiberglass jungle to search for either Döner kebab or tacos-- the real meaning of her journey; she would either kill Pierre with Turkish street food (with the alpenhorn missing she could no longer blow him to death as planned) or enjoy a lovely taco before submitting to marriage and becoming a passive aggressive housewife for the rest of her life.
Emily reconsidered the situation and decided that, once the money was safely ensconced in a Swiss account, she could depart for the South of France and live the life of a pampered exile in a villa overlooking the Mediterranean and drive down the Promenade des Anglais or the Croisette or the Corniche on her way to the casino at Monte Carlo where she would perhaps add to her tax free gains.
Thinking further she thought thought that her best bet would be to go back to Barbados where it all began - one week later she was there living on the ragged East coast of the Island fringed by windswept Sea Grape foliage and rugged cliffs.
Emily had been living there two months when the hurricane struck.
She rushed to the liquor store for hurricane supplies.
Emily returned to her home finding her cat, Louie, being held and caressed by her neighbor. She recognized the young man as her neighbor though they had never formally been introduced. Shutting the door with one foot, laying brown bags upon the kitchen table, Emily looked askew at the uninvited guest molesting her fine feline. "I suppose we will not die during the storm, so may I offer you a drink?"
"No thanks," he said, "just stopped by to help you batten down the hatches," then he looked over to the far corner of the room," hey, is that a hurdy-gurdy over there?"
He picked up the Hurdy Gurdy with a gleeful look in his eye. "This is just the thing to set up a resonance barrier to deflect the might of the oncoming storm." he said. He then rushed out onto the verandah.