Environmental Romance Part Nine

WARNING:  Don't even think about reading this installment

numeros uno, dos,  tres,  cuatro, cinco, seis, siete y ocho!

A challenging piece of romantic literature

such as this will leave you hopelessly lost

without the proper framework.

Flora: An Environmental Love Story

By: Laraine F. Eddington

(Best read aloud with expression by candlelight)

Installment numero nueve:

Can we imagine the feelings of this beautiful young blind woman as she opened the door to Conrad, the man who had blinded her physically, blindsided her emotionally and who had been playing blind man’s bluff for the past three years? Faintness swept through Flora’s darling respiratory system, leaving her complexion as pale and delicate as a porcelain doll valued at $6,000 on Antiques Roadshow. Her voice was uncertain as she stretched forth a tentative hand, “Conrad?”


And then she was in his arms, arms that wrapped around her, squeezing tighter and tighter, until she couldn’t breathe. Her head was spinning, emotions pirouetting like a Russian prima donna. Her hand reached to touch his chiseled face, but he turned his head and suddenly she felt the grizzled mullet under her sensitive fingers. Her hand recoiled as if it had encountered unorganic lettuce.

Wendell began to laugh, the horrible wheezy laughter that had haunted Flora’s dreams since her first encounter with Conrad’s evil twin. “Whoo wee, well, lookee here…” The odious man paused and took a step toward Flora. “Beg your pardon, I guess you can’t look at anything, can you darlin’?”


Flora stepped backward, grasping the door to swing it shut on her loathsome visitor. A dingy Velcro Wal-Mart sneaker blocked the door, which bounced back and hit Flora on the forehead. She lost her balance and sat down hard on the renewable bamboo floor, bruising her left cheek, which was a perfect twin to the one on the right. Her finely developed sense of smell told her that Wendell had eaten a #5 super size combo meal at Taco Bell in the not too distant past, and that he was coming to get her.

Flora’s full red lips pursed, emitting a piercing whistle that sliced through the heavy grunting coming from Wendell, who froze in surprise. There was a cacophony of hoof beats as Flora’s protective goat Albert came blazing toward the unwelcome guest. Albert lowered his head and butted Wendell with the force of his love for his friend Flora; love that had blossomed after she rescued him from the abusive children in the petting zoo. The goat’s bony cranium hit Wendell in an area known to be especially sensitive to approximately half of the world’s population. Wendell’s lips pulled back over his tobacco stained teeth in a grimace that would have put Flora in a coma if she could have seen it. He didn’t crumple, but fell like a rotten log to the floor, cold as a wedge.


Albert gave a baaaaaa of satisfaction and was rewarded with a hug from Flora. “Oh Albert, you brave thing. Why, you rescued me you sweet, sensible old goat.” Flora’s melodious tones and gentle kind words communicated with Albert in the age old way imagined only by those that think that animals have people emotions. “Now Albert” Flora entreated, go fetch me the duct tape.”

Albert clattered away, returning momentarily with a roll of tape that Flora used to bind Wendell’s grubby hands and feet. She tore off a shorter length and covered his mouth, cutting the burrito supreme fumes by 50%.


And then Albert saw it…


To be continued.