It’s automated

By Tiber

We are horrible people.

Lots of us were home today when Dad had his business meeting.  And did anybody remember to ask if the visitor had a blue car? Of course not.

We realized it when the inevitable piercing metallic shrieks began.

Yes, because of my soft-hearted mother and my sister, Iris Nell, we still have the two peacocks and yes, the male still will not mate with the, uh…full of  fun and personality-  oh, who am I kidding, ugly-ass peahen.

So, on at least three occasions, he has tried to tap blue cars.

It can’t be comfortable for him but, clearly, he’s too focused on his mission to care.

By the time I got out there, Cook was trying to remove the bird with a broom. Brunty, the butler, had brought the first thing he could find and he was throwing after-dinner mints at it.  My parents haven’t used the mints lately and they’d gotten hard, so they weren’t dislodging the bird so much as further denting the car.

I’d brought out a new package of socks so you can see how astute we all are in a sudden emergency.

Nothing worked anyway until the peacock was done. Dad’s business meeting was pretty much done too.

The last time this happened, my sister, Vanessa, told Iris Nell to just make the peahen some sexy lingerie and try to put a stop to this. Now, I think it’s too late even for that. After awhile, a man simply develops a new type.

Halloween’s coming up and I think the best thing we can do is to put Iris Nell to work on the costume front…and dress up the peahen as a sleek, new, 2012, blue Lamborghini.

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