The shadow of surrender #politicallycorrect

The next evening my mood has plummeted to deep depths once more. Yet I would like to point out that when you are truly happy, even bad experiences don’t disturb your abundance wave. The Wizard is lying at the foot of my bed on his pink cloud. I believe he is listening to me, but doesn’t stir at all. Then I notice a little Dormouse slip from under the sleeping Wizard’s hat.

“Poop, the Old-Woman-who-swallowed-a-Fly is now pestering me about money I still owe her,” I tell my tiny new friend.

“Do you mean the Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe?” the Dormouse wants to know.

“Oh do you know her?” I blink with surprise.

“I know a lot of everybody,” the Dormouse winks at me. “Besides, the whole village talks and gossips about that Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe.”

“Oh really?” I inquire surprised. “I didn’t know that.”

“You heard about her hernia, didn’t you?” the Dormouse throws me a mischievous grin. “Do you know how she did that?”

“Yes, I do actually,” I say apprehensively. “She lifted up a heavy suitcase because Tweedledum was too lazy to do it.”

“Noooo,” the Dormouse chimes in delight. “That’s not what happened. The story goes that the Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe is quite the promiscuous kind. Apparently she spread her legs one time too many.”

“Noooo,” I exclaim in disbelief, and I quickly change the subject. “What should I do or reply? Maybe I should just pay it back in one lump sum, then she will stop pestering me about it. It will set me back but has to be done I guess. After that she will just pester me about other things. Will never stop till the old hag drops dead.”

“Well she swallowed a fly…” the Dormouse trails off.

“Why do people call her the Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe? Why not the wicked witch? The old hag? The sea serpent with dried-up tea bags instead of voluptuous boobs?”

“Oh no, a sea serpent is too much of a majestic creature,” the Dormouse shakes her head. “And she’s not much of a lady to qualify as witch. That’s why people call her just what she is: the Old-Woman-who-lives-in-a-Shoe.”

At that the Dormouse gets up and starts recounting the well known nursery rhyme:

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.
She had three children, she didn’t know what to do;
She gave them some broth without any bread;
Then whipped them all soundly and sent them to bed.

I applauded the Dormouse which promptly encouraged her to continue her poetry:

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.
She had so many children, her fanny fell off.

I laughed at this verse too, then gave the Dormouse a reproachful look: “I have three children too, you know.”

“Ah but for you it is different,” the Dormouse continued as she cleared her voice again:

There was a sweet lady who lived by the zoo,
She had three children children and loved them all too;
She gave them some broth with plenty of bread,
She kissed them all gladly and put them to bed.

“Hmm, in a world where you can be anything you should always be nice,” I tell the Dormouse off with a twinkle in my eye. “She threatens to charge interest if I don’t pay. Can she decide that unilaterally?”

“No but she thinks she is very important,” the Dormouse chuckles.

“What would she charge?” I rant on. “Does she even know what Euribor is?”

“I doubt it,” the Dormouse is rolling around on the bed clearly in amused hysterics.

“Stupid all-important dried-up prune,” I spit out. “Ugh wish she didn’t get at me with every bloody stuck-up piece of shitty communication. Wish I could remain ice cold and witty just like you. Tell you what. I’ll just pay it and confirm it by mail. End of story.”

“They should rename her to the Little-Old-Woman-who-smelled-like-Horse-Poo,” the Dormouse continues with high shrieks.

Our banter must have awoken the Wizard, because he opens one eye and yawns: “Yes pay her off. Do so with disdain.”

Which I promptly will do, dear readers.

* Disclaimer : Any resemblance between the fictional characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle by chance more than by choice.



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