We rarely break out the fine china, out of fear that the diamond thief, or some other Pink Panther type, might be watching.
I pulled out the big one when our Father’s inheritance first came into our possession. A diamond the size of Kansas—or one of those flat states where the view from the kitchen window goes all the way to Oz. I turned the diamond round and round under my disco ball and LED laser lights with the red and green patterns. Man, was it gorgeous, the diamonds and the lasers. Miss Bassey was right, as she always is.
Then that Pink Panther, with the shifty eyes and the Zorro mask, peered through the window and saw the diamond, saw…the big one. Yep. Then pinky cleaned up house the next morning after I left for the office. I was probably slightly amped stuck in traffic sipping my frapp singing along to Static-X when pinky nabbed the big one.
But the bastard missed the fine china. Today, the fine china is all we have to remember our Father, the gentleman. So you can see why we keep the china well hidden. Someone is always looking through a window. Ours is no exception.
When the blinding bulbs of the lasers burn out and the speakers blow from over-blaring Static-X, I can focus enough to forget the diamond; then, my dear, I gaze out our window and see clear across the Great Plains, off the edge of the earth, right into Seuss’ teacup. I look out and the witch looks back. All sorts of bastards trying to get in.
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