The Famous Mountain Hornsman of the Haute-Savoie
“The steely-eyed riders dig deep, heaving their sleek racing machines back and forth with the metronomic precision of a concert violinist’s right hand.
As they hurl toward the summit, a lone figure appears through the mist. Jean-Sebastien de Coquard, the famous mountain hornsman of the Haute-Savoie stands proudly, his wooden horn extending an almost impossible three meters.
He inhales deeply, taking in the thick mountain air, each breath a tribute his beloved motherland-”
“Nope, nope…oh my God, no.” Lucy Lou (no relation) stops reading and hands the notebook back to her husband, shaking her head in disgust.
“What’s the problem, I was just-”
“This couldn’t be more pretentious. I mean, if your point was to write something so pretentious that no one will ever watch professional cycling, then you nailed it.”
Heavy silence as the two face off, and Lou fights hard to keep his bottom lip from trembling.
“I can’t even look you in the eye right now, Lou, I’m just embarrassed for you.”
Another long pause.
“You know what, Luc’, have at it.”
“This is like a person complaining that their lute strings are not well made.”
“Go on.”
“This is like having a strong opinion on the usage of an oxford comma.”
Lou holds out a flat hand palm down and wiggles it side-to-side.
“This is like complaining that your butler’s hands are too small and can’t hold the cash you take out of the bank.”
“Eh, you can do better.”
Lucy pauses to think and carefully takes a sip of wine.
“This is like ordering a glass of Beaujolais then asking if it ‘has been opening well’.”
“Better.”
“This is as pretentious as saying ‘I’m a fan of professional cycling and creative writing’.”
“That cuts to me to my core, Lucy, it really does.”
Lou can’t hold back the trembling any longer and they both burst into laughter.
“You are truly my finest critic.”
Lucy Lou for the win.