Ever since she could remember, Mrs Groovy had harbored a secret desire to learn the cello. She imagined herself playing in a smoky jazz club, somewhere on Bourbon Street, New Orleans. Professionally of course, Mrs Groovy never does anything by halves.
Bogged down by life in general she finally decided to act on her fantasy. Mr Groovy, used to his wife’s exuberant lifestyle changes bought her the most beautiful bow for her birthday, complete with a sweet, little block of rosin. She bought herself a tight black outfit with killer heels.
Mr Groovy very sensibly suggested that Mrs Groovy hire a cello until she was absolutely positive that this was the direction she wanted to follow. Mrs Groovy felt very disgruntled. She wanted her own Stradivarius but as Mr Groovy was unwilling to re mortgage the house she conceded and hired one instead.
Feeling fabulous and sexy in her new black outfit and killer heels, she waited impatiently for her first lesson in the garden of a very grand house. It was a stunning garden, full of exotic flowers and beautifully manicured lawns. The perfume from the flowers was delicious but it did make her nose tickle and her eyes water a little. Then a great deal.
She sneezed and sneezed as though there was no tomorrow. Her eyes streamed buckets and her nose ran like it was Usain Bolt. Of course she hadn’t thought to bring tissues so she wiped her nose with leaves from the trees which scratched her dreadfully. It was revolting.
“What the hell,” she sneezed angrily as she felt the nastiest sting on her leg.
“Ow,” she was stung again. Then, again and again. She grabbed her bow and whacked her leg as hard as she could. Whatever it was stung again so she pulled down her pants, right down to her ankles to find the culprit. A wasp bit her one last time before zooming off leaving behind big nasty welts on poor Mrs Groovy’s leg.
Dizzy from sneezing so much she examined her leg through swollen eyes. It hurt ferociously. Not bothering to find a leaf she wiped her nose all along her arm, wiped her eyes with her hands and sneezed again. She felt very sorry for herself, especially when she lost her balance, her killer heels had stuck in the grass, and found herself lying on the ground.
“Oh!” she heard a voice gasp. “Oh dear! Someone call an ambulance. SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE,” the voice yelled.
And even though Mrs Groovy insisted there was absolutely nothing wrong with her, apart from a severe bout of hay fever and being attacked by a wasp, an ambulance was called. She looked such a fright that they refused to listen to her and she was whisked away to hospital.
Sadly though, a day or so later she did end up with a severe case of conjunctivitis so her dreams of starring in a jazz band have been put on hold again. But this time, I doubt for very much longer.