Fancy Flies Home

“Ring ring. Ring ring. Hello, Mr. Fancy’s office, Fancy Assistant speaking, how may I help you?”

“Hey FA, it’s me, Frau Fancy. I was trying to ring his mobile but I guess it went through to you. How ya doing?”

“Oh lovely, thank you. But how are you?”

“Ah, just standing here at Tiny Town Airport, waiting for my Cheap Ass Air flight. No food. No water. The Minis are walking the queue, trying to force half-chewed raisins and soggy biscuits on the other Cheap Ass customers. No word on when, or if, we’ll be leaving.”

“Oh no! Why the delay?”

“Alas, a couple of birds became severely depressed at the realisation that they were being forced to share God’s wide open skies with these assholes. So they committed suicide in our plane’s engines. The Cheap Ass engineers are, as we speak, trying to pry their burned carcasses from the aircraft motor.”

“Oh that’s horrible! Do you want me to send Mr. Fancy an email and tell him what is going on?”

“Yes, please. And it should read like this: ‘your family called to check that you were indeed enjoying the First Class Lounge at the Fancy Airport you chose to fly home out of. They sincerely hope the caviar is nice because soon they’ll be subjected to drinking their own urine. Kisses.’ Okay? You got that?”

“Ha ha, Frau Fancy, you are so funny. Okay, I’ll tell him.”

“Ooh, gotta run. Thanks. Looks like we’re boarding. Talk later!”

**Interlude: Fancy drags two toddlers across the tarmac, Nanny #1 following closely behind dragging a double stroller and a diaper bag. The Cheap Ass flight crew is actually very helpful, even allowing us to fully take up the 7 seats we’d purchased, although there were only 4 human bodies. Yes, more on that to come. Obviously. But let’s start with the fact that I’d paid for each Mini twice, once as an infant and once as a child. Airline policy, you see. They aren’t technically age two. So I should be content with holding 12 kg of giant toddler with massive feet and a head as hard as stone on my lap as she fights for her freedom, other passengers be damned. Or pay. Twice. Anyhoo, soon we are settled in and high up in the sky.**

“Oh my God. Are you actually buying Cheap Ass Air champagne? Snort. That’s hilarious,” says Nanny #1, as Fancy here whips out her wallet.

“Yes I am. Desperate times. And if this isn’t enough, I’ll need you to start ripping open those little foil packets marked, ‘Vodka.’ Okay? Here, feed the girls this fine organic sandwich from a company called, um, let’s see, oh yes, here, ‘MeLikey.’ How’s that for fine parenting? And I’ve gotta get me a couple of those scratch cards cuz I’m sending you on the Cheap Ass Air holiday after I win!”

“Oh, no. Never again. Never. But here, let me get that cup of ice for you,” said the greatest Nanny ever to live.

“That’s right. The next time I tell you we’re flying anything other than Fancy Airline, you slap me until my nose bleeds. You understand? Seriously. Got it?”

We’re home. The Fancies have landed.