Friday, June 21, 2013

Not comedy

The brochure promised that we would see puffins in Vík, but we didn't see any.

"Because of the fog", the waitress told us, "they're all tucked-up in their beds!" Somewhere between dinner and the bill, she had decided we were simpletons.

I didn’t mind not seeing the puffins (they look like mimes); I was happy enough with the black-sand beaches. But Shelley was for the birds; she wanted the puffins to come out of their holes and was always on the lookout for a stray one.

And so, when on the beach I happened upon a dead gull with its head bitten off, I was overwhelmed by the comedic opportunity:

"Shelley—" I called, "a puffin!"

As soon as I said it, I sensed a misstep, but it was too late. Shelley had already entered into an excited tip-toe, eyes frantic and searching, like a blind puppy responding to the dinner bell. I could only wince and coax her back as she drew nearer to the headless gull.

This, once again, was not comedy that I had done, but a bad thing.


bitingmidge said...



Jen said...

Bad bad bad thing. So bad that you have to laugh just not to cry ;)

Sweet Olive Press | Helen said...

And the voices in your head shouted PULL OUT! PULL OUT!


Abbie D said...

sorry - laughing to hard to type...