I sauntered into the living room after finishing work. It had been a long day and I was looking forward to making something tasty to eat and then sitting on my chuff on the couch and examining my belly button fluff.
Mid sashay to the kitchen I froze as if I had slammed into a glass wall.
What in the name of fucking God is that?
I exclaimed aloud to the empty room.
Before me on the dining table was a large coppery horn. It looked like some manner of Viking penis receptacle. Or perhaps some kind of hairy crevice inspector?
I approached it slowly and carefully. It caught the light in strange ways making me feel giddy and unsure of my place in the world.
Tentatively I leaned forward and poked at one of what looked like three buttons at the top of it.
Jesus, what the fuck is going on?
The thing reeked of evil, of dark deeds carried out in even darker places. I could almost hear the slow drip drip drip of something dripping in a wet cavern vaguely lit by a soft red glow.
Was that voices? Could I hear voices? Fuck this was like a horror movie. The longer I stared at the devilish thing before me the louder the voices became and the more the world seemed to spin beneath my feet.
Why was this here?
Had the events of my past finally caught up with me? I cast my mind back to that incident in Bulgaria and the man falling down the hill shouting accusingly something with words that had too many Z's and D's.
How fitting his revenge would be to reach out from beyond the grave and place some manner of brass-arse-inspector on my table.
No doubt even now the cackling hordes of hell were watching to see what I would do.
Well, they would get no pleasure from me. I raised a hand to smite the brass-arse-inspector with all my might.
As I did so the voices in my head rose to a crescendo and the door to the living room burst open.
DADDY!!! LOOK AT MY TRUMPET!!!!
The Little Lady bounced forward and picked up what was once an arse inspector and was now revealed to be nothing more than a mundane musical instrument.
A trumpet? Are you sure it's not a French Horn?
I threw that in to cover my flusteration as I was sure I had seen a YouTube video that claimed French Horns had died out in the 1800s and everything on YouTube is true, isn't it?
No Daddy, of course, it's not a French Horn! Listen!
The Little Lady picked up the brass klanker and lifted it to her lips.
The trumpet blared forth a gallon of sprayed spit among the odd farting noise that had just issued from it.
Isn't it cool? We are learning it at school.
She beamed at me happily.
I nodded and smiled pretending I wasn't heartbroken that she had elected to fart in a brass can instead of picking up and learning how to play one of the many electric guitars that were festooned around the house.
Hey Daddy-Bear, you see her Tumpet? Isn't it cool? Perhaps you guys can play together. Wouldn't that be awesome?
The Good Lady marched in grinning with delight at the idea of a family band.
I looked at their happy smiley faces and tried to hide the horror blossoming in my heart at the idea of playing along to a fucking trumpet.
Oh yes. That will be awesome.