I’m beginning to realize I should have named my youngest daughter, rather than my ex-husband doing it. I would have named her something like Siobhan, or Nuala or something creative.

I guess she’s okay with Carrie, although both of us would be happier if even that was spelled with a celtic flair. Kerry. Dark natured, dark-haired. Suits her.

Anyway, my little celtic daemon has decided she really does like playing the flute, but would rather play one more suited to her heritage.

I had no idea that an Irish flute costs as much as half a year’s rent in this hobbit-house.

SO, to ebay we went…and are still sitting. I’m bidding on a relatively gorgeous, tunable D that is far and away from the prices I’ve seen elsewhere. These are the nights I wish our old family friend was around, replying to emails. He’d know if we are doing the right thing. He’s musically inclined and has a flute of his own. AND it’s all his fault, really. He got her started on the penny whistle.

However, if she thinks I’m gonna go all out with the rhinestone studded one that she’s been drooling over (Michael damn Flatley, his royal hotness) she’s got another think coming.

By the way, she’s giggling. Giggling and my dark, evil daemon don’t go well together. I’m frightened.

Wish us luck. We’ve got an hour left.