Whistle Stop

Angela Witsend gritted her teeth and felt her recently consumed ham sandwich
bestow acid-like felicitations in the lower regions of her already inflamed esophagus.
How dare she?  Angela fumed to herself, she is driving me batty!
I must get a grip, Angela thought, I must compose myself,
I am, after all, senior stewardess on this airship!

Indeed she was, and the good people aboard dirigible Eagle Eye depended on her.
(Sequestration had hit hard, and dirigibles were now the only air service.)
But Angela was not the only stewardess--Betty Vitt was the other,
and Betty had a most peculiar habit, which was whistling
the first twelve bars of Dixie every chance she got.
And to Angela, her chances were many.

Having left Buffalo, Eagle Eye raced across Lake Erie on its way to Detroit.
Both Angela and Betty went about their airship stewardess duties;
coffee, tea, People Magazine and other periodical bulwarks.
Returning to the galley, Angela had a message for Betty:
“The gentleman in 9-b wishes a 7-Up.”
“I gotcha!” Betty gushed, with an immediate lilt of Dixie.
Angela pushed her face hard against the brass porthole,
and gazed down bleary-eyed at the grayish water.

Angela mocked the first twelve bars of Dixie to herself.
O Dixie, my Dixie!  Angela grumped internally, straightening her nose.
She grabbed a handful of Planters’ Peanut bags and thrilled the good Eagle patrons.
Angela felt a knot in the pit of her delicate feminine belly, and attained resolve:
O this has got to stop!  she demanded of herself.
As she continued to think of ways to put Old Dixie down,
a flock of Canadian geese flew by in perfect V-like formation,
and Angela tipped her red hat as they passed. 

Angela Witsend took fresh Keurig coffee to the pilots.
“How goes it back there, Angela?  All the passengers happy?”
“All content, captain,” Angela replied, “half are reading or sleeping,
the other half are enjoying the in-flight movie.”
“O, what is the movie?” Captain Early asked.
With a hard jaw, Angela answered, “Whistler on the Roof, Captain.”
Both the Captain and co-pilot did double takes.
Sheepishly, Angela corrected herself:
“Sorry, Captain, I mean, Fiddler on the Roof.”

Trying very hard to oust the image of sticking a pickle in Betty Vitt’s kisser,
Angela found contentment in her acceptance of a less invasive approach.
She simply began whistling the first fourteen bars of the Battle Hymn of the Republic,
and before they reached Detroit, Betty lost all interest in Dixie.

40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
4-27-13