Ooh, pretty psychos!
Just now I was outside running interference between my dog and the dozen nests of baby animals (this must be the Year of the Four-Legged F-uh, Fertility), when I heard the sound of an engine in the air. We live near a municipal airport, so I didn't even look up, accustomed to the perky drone of a Cessna or Piper Cub or--well, that's all the names of small aircraft I know.The dog paused a moment in her Quest for Flesh, giving me the opportunity to glance up.
Two Cessnas, one pink and one mint green, flew in formation about at about 700 feet. When I say, "formation," I mean close enough to pass the Grey Poupon. The Blue Angels don't fly this tight. As I watched, wondering whose house they would hit when they collided in a fiery ball of idiocy, they switched places--the pink one dove to fly under the green one. From my perspective, the two aircraft actually merged into one, then separated.
Then they flew away, a candy-colored crisis on the wing, and I decided that blackberry schnapps was a poor choice for a breakfast drink.
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