The Butterblume Affair

Inspiration for this story came from a
photo I saw on Brenda’s Random Thoughts.
Please check out her great writing and lovely photos.

Every Tuesday, Édouard told his wife he was cycling to his weekly visit with his accountant. This was, technically, plausible; he did own a bicycle, and accountants do exist.

The bicycle, however, was the problem.             

It was enormous. A hulking, cargo-laden beast that Édouard had acquired during what he now privately called his “practical phase.” Parking it discreetly outside the Butterblume Crèmerie while simultaneously pretending to examine the window display of “Au Bouton d’Or” next door required the spatial awareness of a Swiss watch and the acting skills of a man who had neither.

He leaned over the panniers now, rummaging with theatrical purpose, acutely aware that the jeweler’s at Guillosson had enormous windows. Mirrors, essentially. His wife’s friend Margitte worked at Guillosson.

Third floor. Second window from the left. His mistress, Celestine, would hang a wind chime …. their signal that the coast was clear.

Merde! No wind chime.

Édouard straightened up, patted the bicycle sadly, and bought himself a crème fraîche instead.

He sat outside Columbus Café nursing his wounded pride, gazing up at the glorious yellow façade, wondering why love always involved this much dairy and so very little dignity.

Next Tuesday, perhaps.

NAR©2016

This is “La Bicyclette” by Yves Montand

Thursday Doors: Mulhouse, France

^{Everything on The Elephant’s Trunk was created by me, unless otherwise indicated. Thank you for your consideration.NAR©2017-present.}