If she heard the song about the pink ponies one more time she was going to scream.
At first she had liked it. After the tenth listen it started to grate. By the twentieth she was ready to rip her ears from her head just so that she had something to throw.
The summer heat made it worse, the music looping round through open windows.
“I can’t take it anymore Rach.”
Her sister snorted. “Don’t you remember how often we played The Rembrandts? We must have driven mum mad.”
She laughed down the phone as the song started up again.
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