Kia Ford Attending The English Premiere Festivities

Occupying the kitchen, the Peacock feasted on left over television dinners, when Kia Ford emerged from the bedroom.

“I told you to get only two microwavable cheesy pork barrel entrees,” the United West Ham tenant mentioned to her staff member.

“I needed to get extra for boxing day left overs,” the promotional tease put the fork in the Peacock’s mouth.

Taking the comment in stride Kia Ford approached the mirror, applying lip stick.

“Did you go to Christmas Eve mass?” The Peacock inquired, watching the boss shake her head.

“What about Midnight Mass?”

“No,” Kia Ford turned around.

“Sunrise?”

“No,”

“Christmas Morning?”

“No,”

“How about the last Christmas Mass for another 364 days,”

“No.”

Hearing this feedback, the Peacock confirmed the agenda taking control, “then it is time to go see the Saints,”

“Which one?”

“Saint Mary’s, of course,” the Peacock referred.

“Sounds fine, let’s go,” Kia Ford expressed grabbing her designer purse.

Leaving the English Premiere apartment building with its great lion sponsor statue, an Amazon package peacefully rested near the door. “What could this be?” Kia Ford surprisingly pointed out.

Carefully, watching the Peacock unwrap the contents the colorful marketing tool found a letter, “Seasons Greetings,” the Peacock read the message, “Missed you this fall in the UEFA Champions scene, hope you are doing well, Perry Mount.”

“Ah, Perry Mount, a wonderful friend from the states,” Kia Ford clarified, “what is the gift?”

“A book,” the Peacock answered, “Dummies Guide To Mountain Climbing.”

“That is very kind of him,” Kia Ford thought as they both continued the journey path towards Saint Mary’s.

Appropriately wearing an outfit displaying funeral colors the mover and shaker flipped through the technical written cliffhanger making notations.

“You do not think your going to need that?” The faithful fowl wondered, ‘if feathers were getting trimmed.”

“One side of Perry Mount’s ladder is reserved for the relegated while the other,”

“Champions,” the Peacock informed, “and if you are on that spectrum side, then you still are paired with me.”

“That is true,” Kia Ford agreed as they reached the pearly gates, “Saint Mary’s”

Peering through the barrier they could see the march of the wooden Saints, a holiday tradition.

“Their precision is just perfect,” Kia Ford commentated when locks magically unfastened.

“Are you Kia Ford, the West Ham United?” An invisible spirited voice inquired.

“Yes,” Kia Ford confirmed, “I am the Hammer girl.”

“Kia,” the Peacock warned, “you could get relegated telling people you are a hammer girl in some places.”

“Well, I see you have your irons already in the fire, so come on in,” and the glorious entry wave slowly revealed, “the goals.”

“You put the ball through those two sticks over there and poof you have a goal,”

“Well, I know that” Kia Ford boasted.

“Remember you can not touch your ball,” the loudspeaker presentation sternly announced, giving the peacock a light hearted moment.

Forty-five minutes passed, featuring end to end action including an electrical bolt flashing down impaling Kia Ford, knocking her to the ground. After the spiritual break, she came back for the second half, image glowing.

“Bowen,” she exclaimed sending her ball into the goal.

“You see hammer girl even you can get a goal in relegation,” the Peacock joked.

When things concluded, Kia Ford’s lone goal proved sufficient and the Saints once again made the sacrifice, allowing three points to be taken home.

“You see Peacock, that wasn’t that bad,” Kia Ford noted, “we moved up the table.”

“Now sit back, relax, and let the boys in the band’s good times roll,”

“And if they play like,” Kia Ford paused, “craps?”

“Our snake eyes will steal the production,” the Peacock strategized, creating a sinister grin on Kia Ford’s photogenic smile.