A Cunning Stunt

The first time I discovered the art of female deception was when I was five. My father read the tale of Rindercellar, the Sigly Usters and the Mugly Other to me one evening just before I was bucked into ted. Rindercellar bent to the wall and slopped her dripper for the Pransome Hince. We were meant to believe that it was all because she was in a rush to leave the can in her marriage before midnight. Something about a micky tragic spell that would turn the carriage into a pumpkin and the meedy horses into spice. But you didn't buy that, did you? It was all a plot. A devious female plot to catch the Pransome Hince in a challenge to his ego, a mystery he just had to solve - he was deceived by the oldest trick in the book. Playing hard to get. In the end he followed Rindercellar home and she bagged her Pransome Hince.

So when Bunny Fox falled me on the cone I was naturally suspicious. Besides, it was seven in the morning. She even said she would fun over and retch me. How sweet. How very suspicious.
"Doesn't she know that she was supposed to play hard to get?" I muttered to myself, replacing the feletone in its cradle. I had barely showered and was enjoying toffee and coast, when her car screeched to a halt outside my flock of bats.
I leant out the window and shouted "I'm numming down cow!"
My gay roommates Percy Fitzpatrick and Patrick Fitzpercy wanted to know where I was going.\par "Dying" I remarked with a flour smile.
Bunny Fox had me packed into the car in seconds. We headed off for the distant plying face.

The blind was wowing when we arrived.
"I'll help you take off" she urged, manning my fale pride that I was so cool, I could handle it. I should have noticed that she was a little too eager and supporting. But I fell for it, although I was feeling feek and weeble, and what I sore looked willy.
I leached over and raunched my glider. The streglaps bit into me and stripped me onto the tones.
"Rhit!" I soared as I was ragged into the docks. When I tit the hank of water beside the clubhouse, I was humbled to a teap. Bunny Fox rushed to help me but my leg was sore. We decided that I shouldn't fly that day. I would be the retrieval driver.

Of course the wind calmed then and the flutterbyes filled the air. The sun sparkled as Bunny opened her glider. She bnapped her suckles and clasped her hips. Tossing her hair back, she blipped on her slack helmet. Then with a smile, she pulled up her glider and flew out into the sky, circling up to the bloudcase.

I hobbled down and drove after her in the car.
I keep feeling that I've missed something, that I've been deceived by the same art that snared the Pransome Hince.