On the eleventh day of Christmas My True Love gave to me
Eleven pipers piping...
There is nothing like the sound of bagpipes in the morning.
It took me a while to figure out what they were playing. It's not often you hear "You're a Mean One Mr Grinch" with drones. I guess my ex wasn't pleased with my Christmas spirit.
On the whole, I thought I got off easy. This was less embarrassing than the ten lords a leaping; less work than the nine ladies weighting; less mess than the eight maids a milking, or the byproduct thereof; less intrusive than the seven swans; not as good as the five golden rings; only slightly noisier than the four calling birds; not as smelly as the three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge in pear tree. Mind you, I still had a Partdoven with brandied pear sauce waiting for Christmas dinner, so the fowl was fine with me.
I stood on my porch with my morning coffee, listening to the music, when CRACK! Something hit me. The last thing I thinking before passing out was, damn, there goes my favourite coffee mug.
I came to, strapped into the front seat of my ex's SUV. I felt awful but my ex looked worse. He was a mass of bruises and abrasions. He looked so beaten up, before I demanded to know what he thougth he was doing, I asked if the dancers had done all that damage.
"Not all of it," he said, giving me a sidelong scowl before turning his attention back to the road.
We were headed north. I was pretty sure I recognized the highway and guessed we were headed for his grandparent's cottage.
Going for the "put him at ease" ploy, I prompted him to tell me about his injuries. Most of the abrasions were from the wild and domestic fowl wrangling. He had a couple of broken toes from trying to steal milch cows. The dancers got in a few kicks, but he had to fight off all the pipers when they realized he was kidnapping me. He only escaped because their bags got in the way.
I only hoped that one of the pipers got my ex's license plate because I was starting to get more scared than annoyed. Anyone who'd confront and escape eleven men in kilts was a psychopath capable of anything.
Since my ex was beyond reason, I gave up conversation and stared out the window. A small aircraft dipped low. My ex swerved, trying to get a better look.
"Relax," I told him. "It's not a police copter. It's a single prop plane."
"Since when do you know so much?"
I didn't dignify the question with an answer. Any moron would know the difference between a helicopter and an aeroplane. I knew a little more than that. It was a bright yellow Piper Cub, just like the one my detective friend promised to take me up in when the weather warmed up.