Today, from my hiding place under the blankets I hear a little timid voice.
“Are you going to talk to me Egg O?”
It is Spud, his goggly eyes welling up.
“Maybe” I say.
“‘I will never play the ukulele again Egg O.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
“But I have another instrument Egg O, much sweeter, trembly and quavering and perfect for dancing and hopping about”.
My head shot out from under the covers.
“ANOTHER INSTRUMENT!” I yell. “Who gave it to you?”
“Well. while you were in solitary Egg O, my dear wife came to visit. She brought me these.”
And with that Spud produces from under his bed some Pan Pipes and he begins to blow.