Our garden party began as I had imagined. The “Great Gatsby” theme brought out the elegance in everyone: tailored suits, perfectly coiffed hair and impeccable manners. Yet, how quickly the reserved and elegant atmosphere turned to mayhem once the champagne was uncorked and guests began drinking vodka directly from the bottles. The photographer hiding behind trees or doorframes in order to capture guests in the most indignant of behaviors. The children of the guests had arrived in unusual costume attire. As I sat on my patio sipping my martini and watching the festivities on the lawn, I observed a trio of girls dressed as ponies prancing proudly through the tents. Two young hares, rump to rump like dueling pistols, crouched by the gate. And a single clown holding a large bunch of balloons just standing still. The croquet game had quickly turned into sword fighting matches and horseshoes were flying between the trees. I watched silently, believing that the gypsies who had arrived were only a vision. But as the dogs stood to dance, I had to excuse myself to lie down. Falling asleep quickly, it didn’t seem long before I awoke finding myself safely tucked in bed. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and reminded myself not to watch Fellini films late at night. I snuggled under my blankets, closed my eyes and missed the turtle with the stovepipe hat walking across my room.
– – – – – – – – – – — – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – Written in response to the Speakeasy #156. Please go to The Speakeasy on Thursday and vote for me! This week’s prompts:“Two young hares, rump to rump like duelling pistols, crouched by the gate.”