Saturday, January 8, 2011

Wee Willie Weenie and The Good Time Patio Band

It’s Carnival time in The South, that celebrated high season of costume balls, Mardi Gras, revelry and feasting that occurs between Epiphany and Lent. What, that’s not going on at your house right now? Pity, because I can assure you it’s a grand and glorious time over here. My feathered mask and velvet gown are draped coquettishly across my bedroom chaise, awaiting the whisper of my silk stockings as I slide them on before tonight’s diversion.

First, however, there’s business to be done, in the form of taking down the Christmas décor. Since the master of the house is away on a hunting campaign, the houseboys are engaged in polishing the silver and the downstairs maid seems to have absconded, I wrap myself in a peignoir and slip out to the porch to unwind the fading garlands from the columns.

Before I’m even outside I can clearly hear the sound of drums thumping steadily to music. Perhaps our neighbors, Creepetta and The Hamburglar, have started their fête early? A Saturday afternoon patio party to kick off the season? Perhaps that wretched absconded maid misplaced their houseboy’s hand-delivered invitation?

Alas, no, it soon becomes clear there is no patio party burbling merrily amongst the neighbors’ leaf bags, brambles, yard art, and nonfunctional vehicles. It seems their son, Wee Willie Weenie, is merely practicing his drumming somewhere within. He’s a dear lad, really, along in his high school years by now and still delicate as a downy thistle. He spends his brief outdoor excursions shrieking in terror at bumblebees and dragonflies, whimpering softly while raking leaves and creeping timidly to the mailbox, eyes bulging at the prospect of the narrow street ahead, stretching endlessly, tantalizingly in either direction into a world of possibilities far beyond the hairs of Creepetta’s disturbingly prominent mustache and The Hamburglar’s allergy-riddled rides on the lawnmower, huddled beneath wide-brimmed hat and surgical mask…

But I digress. Surely all this vigorous drumming will put vitality in the boy’s constitution, strengthen his Gumby arms and stiffen his knobby spine. In fact, I think it’s working already –- the drumming seems louder every minute. It’s certainly stiffening my spine, so imagine the benefits he’s receiving. Bravo! Wee Willie Weenie, and bravo! Creepetta and Hamburglar, for such insightful use of the discretionary income you gained from your latest litigious pursuits against your employers.

Laissez les bon temps roulez. 

Saturday, January 1, 2011

It's Over

Nothing quite says the holidays are over like driving through a gray, rainy New Year’s Day to the In-Law’s house for black eyed peas and a discussion of living wills.