Billy’s hearing was set for the eighteenth. Until then he would have to make do with his other senses.
It was a good thing that Billy could read lips, as palm-reading had fallen on hard times of late. And though possessed of a remarkable sense of smell, he found it nigh impossible to hold down a nose job.
The most touching thing about Billy, according to his wife Irene, was his recently acquired taste for fine jewelry. Why he initially had been so resistant to her piercing his tongue was difficult for her to fathom.
Though Billy sounds more like a kid’s name, he was actually turning fifty-one and a half this month. Irene was throwing him a party, with a tattoo artist for the children and a plastic surgeon for their parents.
The party’s guests marveled at the surgeon’s alternative methods. He was dressed as a clown and used helium for the augmentations. A few of the boys had to get out their b-b guns to bring their mothers back down to earth.
“Ear-Boy” was the hearing-ear dog Billy received at last month’s party. Billy now noticed his frantic dog barking toward the sky.
Irene knew that at fifty years of age she had no business thinking about a lift, yet here she was. Drifting heavenward, she was regretting her decision never to allow their children so much as a slingshot.
Billy wondered how in the world he might save his wife, seeing she was already out of range of the boys’ guns. Just then, a baby began to wail in an unusually high-pitched voice after the surgeon finished with a still nursing mother.
Billy recalled his wife’s teasing him about his flat posterior and quickly butted in line. “Fill ‘em up,” he demanded. And so Billy took off after Irene, flying by the seat of his pants.
By the time Irene reached France, she had lost a great deal of altitude due to malicious bites from local mosquitoes known as Parisites.
Billy might have sailed on past Byzantium if it weren’t for the Eiffel Tower. He used the stud from his tongue to release enough air to facilitate his descent.
After several days, he caught up with Irene in a smoky café in the Latin Quarter of La Rive Gauche. Today was the eighteenth and Billy had forgotten all about his hearing. But, starting suddenly at the snap of his wife’s fingers for a waiter, he realized it must have been psychological.
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