By: juanrico

Dec 09 2012

Category: Uncategorized

As Aristophanus had left his cosy rush woven chair at the balcony D, Alfred the leechman, the secretary the kitten, the D. Hermógenes the Soundkiller and Peteranthony the postman that had replaced the priest in the meeting, had broken up the late news around:

– I had carried an urgent parcel from someone in Madrid to Ms Saintfountain…

– I wonder  D. Adonis, the He-partridge, had posted it from Madrid to prevent rumors- said the mayor who was suspicious of the schoolmaster so fond of the curly long blond haired school mistress.

– You, the secretary, do look up in the Birthday books for the date of birth of Ms Saintfountain! Hurry, before the priest starts the Rosary Prayers!

The secretary had fetched the book dated 1900-19300. He was so keen in flicking through the pages -licking his right thumb so hushy that very shortely found the reference about Sainfountain’s parents who had submitted Saintfountain in the book of archives on the first day of November in nineteen fifteen, three years earlier than Dr Hermogenes.

– I was right. She has been posted a parcel with a present for her birthday -pointed out proudly of himself, the mayor.

– I am suspicious of you, Peterantony ! As we all know how fishy you are for the others’ life, it sounds unnatural you `haven’t put your hooter inside the parcel! said the secretary in a tone to bring out the “kitten” wrongdoing.

As he was going to be caught telling the lie sooner or later, he confessed he had carefully opened the parcel heating up somewater in a pot to free the parcel from the glue that was going to be easily removed with light pull.

– let`s bet for the content – had put forward the mayor, Mr Alfred, who by any chance was very short of income as his four spinsters pushed him for more saving on the tailor´s workshop considering their age of teens- He who happens to target in the present will gain the huge amount of four thousands! Is it OK?

Everyone nodded and started to number out pieces of garments: a tweed auton jacket! had bet the doc, the Soundkiller; some cotton pants for the cool dry winter, put on the stake the secretary the Kitten, always with his black hair combed backward, brightly shinning owing to the generous amount of grease applied to  his thick bush of hair. The postman, the nosy lot, took his turn and pointed out that Ms Saintfountain was said to appreciate silk red nickers!

– A noisy halabalo blew off just when the postman announced his bet – ” you are a faker, you had unrwrapped the parcel… you have made a foul. You have broken up the rule of the game: if you  won the bet you wouldn’t be entittled to recieve the bill!

– The meeting had finished in a great mess and everone stood up to hurry down the steps to the square; the four walked to the church hustily to mumble the prayers, letting the secretary by himself to bring the chairs inside and lock the premises.