Major Ames replaced his hat rather hastily, after a swift manoeuvre with regard to his hair which Mrs Evans did not accurately follow. The fact was (though he believed the fact not to be generally known) that the top of Major Ames’ head was entirely destitute of hair, and that the smooth crop which covered it was the produce of the side of his head – just above the ear – grown long, and brushed across the cranium so as to adorn it with seemingly local wealth and sleekness. The rough and unexpected removal of his hat by the bough of the mulberry tree had caused a considerable portion of it to fall back nearly to the shoulder of the side on which it naturally grew, and his hasty manoeuvre with his gathered tresses was designed to replace them. Necessarily he put back his hat again quickly, in the manner of a boy capturing a butterfly.
– p. 59
Mrs. Ames, by E. F. Benson, Bloomsbury ©1912
Manolo says, manly good fun in the Mexican town of San Juan de la Vega.
Every year on the Tuesday of Carnival (which fell on Feb 5th this year), the residents of San Juan de la Vega get together to “recreate” the great battle of their patron saint (San Juan de la Vega of cours) and the government. The story is that this Juan was a bit of a Robin Hood character and stole from the rich to give to the poor. During Carnival, there is a little bit of a recreation of the story of some thieves stealing gold, but not all making it out. The captured thieves are then offered up for a ransom that exceeds the amount of gold stolen. Money is collected, but apparently not all goes according to plan and there is the resulting battle with the government. This isn’t a small recreation though. Tons of potassium chloride and sulphur along with many thousands of people gather to set off these explosive hammers.
In this Western ski village where the skies are not cloudy all day (sometimes there is snow, too), Mr. Henry has been having fun teasing his adored consort each time the ski-bum waiter addresses her as “ma’am.”
But today the little dude-boy addressed Mr. Henry as “sir” – not once, but three times. Cheek!
Riding the ski lift chair, Mrs. Henry struck up conversation with a teen girl from a prairie state. “Because of my knee injury last year,” said Mrs. Henry, “this year we’re taking it easy and staying on the green runs.”
“Oh,” replied the precious young thing, “I think you’re doing real good. My granner and granpa can’t even get out the house anymore!”
Such kind words. Such generosity of spirit. Aren’t the holidays wonderful?
Somehow Mrs. Henry survived the holidays and her milestone birthday with her amour propre intact and, importantly, with her girlish figure intact, too. After much hand-wringing over the appropriate gift, Mr. Henry chose a camel-colored (“heather acorn”) cashmere cardigan from J. Crew. (Something to wear against the skin seemed to be the right choice.) Inside the sweater he hid a Michelin map of the Benelux countries – a promised trip to Bruges, Ghent, and Antwerp. She loved it.
Mr. Henry finally decided what he wants for Christmas – a TSA uniform. Wearing it he can command Mrs. Henry to stand perfectly still for a pat-down. Federal regulations, ma’am.