Happy Thanksgiving! It is I Gigi the parti poodle here to introduce chapter three of my story Certified Sadistic Accountant. I must tell you Thanksgiving has been most distressing. My novelist gave me one task: find Butterflake rolls for our Thanksgiving feast. I could not find them anywhere. Everywhere I searched there were plenty of other rolls: King’s Hawaiian rolls, dinner rolls, hard rolls, variety bag rolls. I could find every roll except Butterflake rolls. I was at my wits end. I employed the Maltese…

Gigi employed me. I am Tucker and I am a Maltese.

Yes, yes, yes. They know you are a Maltese. Anyway, I hired an Uber to drive us to all the different grocery stores to look for Butterflake rolls as poodles are not allowed to have driver’s licenses. This still irritates me. That said, I trotted into each store’s bakery department and bread aisle and searched everywhere. Shoppers kept coming up and wanting to pet me. It was more than a little rude. I merely dodged them and let them pet Tucker instead.

They pet me and it was good.

No one cares. Anyway, I checked all the bakeries and bread aisles in vain. Just as I was about to give up and use this blog as a soapbox on which to rant about the absence of Butterflake rolls from Thanksgiving, I finally located them in the bakery of the last grocery store I checked. They must have just put them out. They are different than the Butterflake rolls I am used to which have vertical sections. These are shaped more like a cinnamon roll or a whirligig with a spiral structure. They looked tasty enough so I brough them home. They are being put in the oven even as I write.

To all the grocery stores out there, I beseech you. Please do not deny me Butterflake rolls ever again during the holidays. They are the finishing touch to any holiday feast.

Yum, yum.

Hush up. Here is chapter three of Certified Sadistic Accountant. I wish you a joyful Thanksgiving dinner…hopefully with Butterflake rolls.

Certified Sadistic Accountant

by

Gigi the parti poodle

Chapter Three

Bexley turned and tromped over to the receptionist’s desk in her combat boots, her stack of bracelets jangling as she went. She grabbed the key and as she headed over to open the front doors, someone came tapping on the glass. Bexley peered outside and saw a familiar face. Fia Dupree, the 4.0 college student and daughter of Mr. Dallas Dupree stood there as the driver of a cab was unloading her blush colored Tumi luggage out of the trunk.

“Daddy!” she squealed as she rushed through the doors, saw Dallas, and ran towards him with open arms. Fia wore a rose-colored long-sleeved Steve Madden fit & flair mini dress, an olive-colored corduroy baseball cap, and hot pink Converse high-tops. Rhinestone Ettika earrings sparkled from her earlobes. Under her cap her blonde hair was set in large curls and long lush mink fur fake eyelashes adorned her lids.

“I thought your mother was picking you up from the train,” Dallas said somewhat confused.

“I wanted to surprise you, daddy. Besides, I think it’s fun to see where you’ve worked all my life. I remember coming here when I was a little girl and watching you do taxes.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“I remember coming here on Halloween and dressing up as a pixy or a witch and giving out candy from my Halloween bag to all the accountants.”

“I don’t remember that at all,” Lance said. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember that.”

Makenna gave Lance a nasty look.

“You were in grade school, Lexington,” Mr. Dupree growled. 

From his desk, Curtis studied Fia. She looked different from the last time he’d seen her. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. “Congratulations on your 4.0,” he said to her.

Fia turned and looked at Curtis. He was that creepy looking nerdy guy her dad had hired a few years ago. “Thanks,” she said.

“We’d love to have you here, buttercup,” Mr. Dupree told her. “But its tax season you see.”

“I know,” Fia said a little disheartened. “I just thought it would be super fun to surprise you.”

“I’m sure the taxi driver is waiting for you. Tell him you’ve decided to go to the train station and tip him well.”

“Well…I guess I’ll go meet mom,” she said. “I’ll text her and let her know where I am.”

“Awe, let her stay,” Lance said. “We didn’t hire anyone this year as a temp accountant and the desk in the back is vacant.”

Dallas turned and glared at Lance. He did not want his daughter hanging around the office. “It would be best for Fia to head home. Best for everyone. She’s had a long quarter.”

“I get the hint, dad,” Fia said irritated. “I’m heading back out to the taxi. She turned, her blonde curls bobbing on her shoulders. 

“You know, Dallas,” Bexley said.

“Mr. Dupree,” Dallas said.

“You could hire your daughter to take my place while I’m gone.”

“Take your place?” Fia asked, turning back around.

“I’m going on spring break and your dad says he’s going to have a hard time getting a temp to fill in for me. But you know the office and the clientele well. You’ve been coming here on and off all your life. You could be the temporary receptionist while I’m gone.”

“That sounds…”

“No,” Mr. Dupree said. “Fia’s been working hard all quarter. She needs the rest.”

“I’ve been working hard too,” Bexley said. “I need a break too. You think it’s easy working for you? We get a real suck-fest of clients slogging in here telling me to smile more and wear more professional clothes. Firstly, these are professional clothes and secondly, do I look like the kind of person who smiles? There’s no way I’m going to smile at those fake and bake tanned sleaze-bag lawyers or that one farmer who always leans into the desk and tells me how good I smell. What does he think I am, an apple pie?”

“I think it would be fun,” Fia said, a lilt in her voice.

Mr. Dupree glared at Bexley. If she wasn’t such a good receptionist, he’d fire her on the spot. “The rest of my accountants agree with me. Fia should take the week off and you shouldn’t be running off to spring break.”

“I always worked during my spring break,” Curtis said. “That’s how I helped pay my way through college.

“Shut up, Cook!” Mr. Dupree snapped.

“I think it would be a great idea for your daughter to work here, sir.”

“This is going to be so much fun, daddy,” Fia said clapping her hands.

“Then we’re settled,” Bexley said. “I’ll start packing tonight.”

“It’s a dream come true,” Fia said.

“It’s going to be a nightmare,” Mr. Dupree muttered.

MY BOOKS

You can check out my books Chicane and all five installments of the Musicology book series Musicology: Volume One, Baby!, Musicology: Volume Two, Kid!, Musicology: Volume Three, Twist!, Musicology: Volume Four, Sweetie! and Musicology: The Epiquad on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback editions. You can also check out Musicology’s web site at www.musicologyrocks.com and vote for who you think will win Musicology!

STREAM OF THE WEEK: TWAS THE FIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS (2023)-APPLE TV+

This week’s pick is a documentary about a lawyer who wants to decorate his house with many, many lights and decorations and invite anyone who wants to swing by, and he’ll supply hot chocolate, cotton candy and other goodies. But his local Homeowner Association does not want him to do it. Seems like a lightweight silly story. Except it’s not. It’s a microcosm of present-day America and at times its downright chilling. An examination of a wolf or wolves who wear sheep’s clothing.

The tale takes place in Idaho in a quiet neighborhood where every house is a McMansion. Jeremy Morris is a lawyer who starts out by showing us his storage unit neatly packed with an abundance of Christmas ornaments, some which he inherited and others which he purchased himself. That is how many decorations this guy has. Even though he lives in a McMansion he still needs a neatly arranged but near full storage unit to store his Christmas decorations. He is fascinated not just by Christmas but also by American Heritage motifs. And he says his mission in life is to save Christmas. He claims his hero is Clark Griswald from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. He also appears to like The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. It is unclear, however, if he has ever seen or was inspired by A Charlie Brown Christmas or The Little Drummer Boy. Jeremy is a graduate of Liberty University School of Law. He originally wanted the documentary to be a multiple part series and contacted the director Becky Reed on more than one occasion to let her know.

Prior to Jeremy and his wife and three young children moving into the opulent Idaho neighborhood, Jeremy had a house in the city limits where he abundantly decorated it with lights and decorations. He invited an extensive crowd of holiday revelers to come view it. He didn’t, however, want or thought he needed to get a permit for his festivity which, after he decided to advertise it online began getting hundreds of hits. And so, he and his wife decided to find a house outside of the city limits to host an even larger Christmas event.

Jeremy and his wife did not purchase a farmhouse on a large piece of property with no one around for acres. Nor did they purchase a large empty lot with no one around for acres and build a house on it. Instead, they chose a house in a Homeowner Association neighborhood where all the residents who live there have a document of laws they agree to live by and depend on the same streets to get in and out. A fair number of said residents are retired.

Interviews with Jeremy’s parents tell us what Jeremy was like as a child, what his childhood was like, and his lifelong ambitions. I would encourage you to carefully watch the last scene with them and listen intently to what they have to say about their son.