The mild, late summer weather made for pleasant vacationing. For the next two days, we pretended the Main House didn't exist. We didn't fetch water, bring in firewood, collect eggs, haul away the poop, nor did any other chores for the Main House's benefit. Instead, we did fun things. We visited the mall. Made apple-throwing slingshots out of bras. Played fetch with Bryce and Bender. Skipped rocks on the river. And fashioned crowns out of dandelions.
Uncle Peter and I also liked taking long walks in the woods. We used fallen branches as walking sticks - not because they helped us, but because it was more fun to walk that way.
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While on vacation Uncle Peter and I went "shopping" at a notoriously expensive jewelry and clothing boutique so pretentious it required three unpronounceable French names: "Véra Jôndel Dépôt". Before the peak we couldn't afforded to even window shop there. We sauntered in like movie stars and made a big show in front of the tuxedo-wearing skeleton slumped over the front desk.
"Greetings my good man!" rejoiced Uncle Peter, tipping an imaginary hat at the corpse as I curtsied. "My beautiful niece and I would very much like to be fitted in the most luxurious of evening wear available. The—"
The skeleton rudely interrupted Uncle Peter with snooty words I could not hear.
"I assure you sir we are NOT here to 'waste your time' and are fully capable of paying for our purchases. Don't be fooled by our casual appearance and—."
More silent words.
"How DARE you, Sir! If proof of liquidity is what you require, then behold..." Uncle Peter pulled out an enormous role of thousand dollar bills and waved it in front of the skeleton's face. "...Ha! after our shopping I think I will make a call to my good friend Véra Jôndel and report your rude behavior and—."
Even more silent words.
"No. no. no. It's too late for all that. Come, Samber! Let us adjourn ourselves to the sales floor and overlook this establishment's fashionista board offare."
We had fun trying on silly outfits and hats. We took two bags worth of clothes home after paying the snooty skeleton $2,000.
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As we walked from Véra Jôndel Dépôt to the truck, we passed a quaint flower shop. Through the display window I could see that all the flowers had long since dried up in their display buckets. The sight of the dead flowers gutted me. I felt hollow. I started to cry.
When Uncle Peter asked what was wrong. I blubbered incoherently and then dived into an even deeper, more pathetic, crying spell.
Uncle Peter hugged me and I buried my wet face into his newly-purchased piña-cloth shirt and silk tie. Then open-mouthed wailed so loudly it hurt my own ears.
After a good LONG cry I felt better and we continued walking to the truck.
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While on vacation we also visited Dr. Harman, Jackie, and Tabitha on their houseboat. I couldn't help noticing Uncle Peter preening a bit before each visit. Nor Tabitha's obvious excitement at his arrival.
"I like your pants." commented Tabitha on one such visit.
"They where 50% off." replied Uncle Peter.
"I'd like them more if they were 100% off." she purred.
Tabitha and Uncle Peter often used double-entendres in this way, assuming I was clueless.
YOU ARE READING
Agoraphobia
General FictionA heroic eleven-year-old girl struggles to survive in a dying world plagued by a contagious form of agoraphobia (fear of being outside).
