Flamingo to Heaven

As I left this morning, I noticed an astonishing site. The neighbours yard was filled with plastic pink flamingos.

Living nearby to a suburb where gnomes on the front of many businesses is a biennial occurrence meant that siting didn’t faze me … much.

But seeing as how the old man was sitting there on his front porch in a maroon bath robe putting a HAPPY BIRTHDAY sign into the ground in front of the non-native fowl, I figured there was both an honourable and amazing reason for this site.

My neighbours are a weird couple of pseudo-Americans. Three months a year they return to their native soil to ensure their speech mannerisms don’t disappear. I had the good fortune to work with about 20 years ago: One of those weird coincidences that you get from living in a smaller city! She is a cantankerous old biddy who likes to tell the rest of the street how their gardens should look, but we all know she means well.

So it would appear that the husband loves his wife enough to get her something most unusual for her birthday.

I am betting the last time they were “in the (united) states” they spotted flamingos somewhere. She probably said Aren’t the gorgeous?! I’d love some of them in my yard!”

Now she does. At least for 24 hours. Buying plastic flamingos would be expensive. Hiring plastic ones wouldn’t cost much less.

Yet a lovely gift for anyone, no matter what age they are.
Tonight’s trip had a fortunate end: My wife rang with the suggestion to meet at well-lit up location a few kilometres from our home. Good idea! Ah, but does this bus stop near there? Yes, it did! Thank god for that!!

Two more nights till a months holiday. Unless I have no other option, I do not want to travel on a bus!

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