Gone with the wind

It must be something about living in America for a month, but I have started to catch myself coming over all Scarlett O'Hara.  I keep talking to the cat in a flounsie manner all southern drawl and flighty-like. Tess the cat, is bemused.  In my mind, she has morphed into Mammy. 'Oh, fiddle dee dee Miss Tessie!  what shall we do with all this time for idlin' whimsically?'

Miss Tessie, is not moved by my imaginary petticoat swaying and blinks languidly in the direction of the flute case, which is sitting idly on the sofa.  A flute case, I hasten to add that has not seen the light of day for 20 years, but I took it out of the cupboard yesterday thinking that now might be a simply darlin' time for us to become reacquainted.  Oh yes! Miss Tessie, a simply marvelous idea!

There then ensues the most pitiful episode of breathy caterwauling the South ever heard.  To make matters worse, the high ceilings and lack of dampening drapery in the sitting room, only serve to amplify my pathetic attempts at remembering how to play. 'Fiddle dee dee, Miss Tessie, what has become of my embouchure!?'

But Miss Tessie had not stuck around to find out.... She was gone with the wind