© Bruce Goodman 27 July 2015
Concheetah was a traditional witch, except for a few minor details: she didn’t have a big hooked nose with warts on it; she was married to a rich lawyer; she rarely wore black; she didn’t have a broomstick. But she did have a beautiful step-daughter, called Peach Petal.
Peach Petal was called Peach Petal because she was as gentle as a spring blossom; her skin glowed with a soft, radiant hue; her voice was as tender as a petal floating from a branch in a fragrant breeze.
For Peach Petal’s seventeenth birthday, Concheetah phoned Why-Not-Take-A-Ride-On-An-Elephant Inc. and booked a safari ride. Peach Petal was thrilled. She sat atop the elephant and off they went.
The elephant took her far, far away, through enchanted fields; across babbling streams; over distint mountains; through dramatic alpine passes. She saw baby giraffes; she saw two new-born buffalo playing a game of cavort-around mother; she saw a pride of lions, and she saw a more-than-handsome farmer moving a herd of unicorns.
“How do I get home?” asked Peach Petal of the farmer.
The farmer told the elephant. The elephant took her home; the quick way.
Concheetah was furious. She phoned Why-Not-Take-A-Ride-On-An-Elephant Inc.
“That horrid girl returned,” snarled Concheetah into the phone. “Take her away again, and this time don’t bring her back.”
Away went Peach Petal on the elephant again and, to cut a long journey short, Peach Petal and the farmer had eleven children and together they looked after the amazing animals on their wonderful farm.
As for Concheetah, she fell down a water well while snooping around on the farm. No! She didn’t drown. She is still screaming for help, but Peach Petal and the farmer can’t find a yarn tall enough to haul her out.
Maybe this yarn will do the trick.