Category Archives: A Story a Day

1036. The late Aunt Hilda

I really am terribly excited! My husband’s old aunt has just died. Aunt Hilda. She was such a grouchy old bag. I couldn’t stand her. Every Sunday we would have to visit. We didn’t want to get left out of the will, and she was so rich. Unbelievably rich! But goodness! How to ruin a Sunday! In fact, how to ruin an entire week.

I didn’t bother going to the funeral. Why should I? Goodness knows I had visited her often enough. Missing out on her pre-cremation celebration was a pleasure. And then, later that same day, the will was read. Forty three million! Can you imagine? Forty three million! The things I’ll be able to do! In retrospect, it was worth putting up with her blue rinse every Sunday. You’ve no idea the relief now she’s kicked the bucket.

I’m going to start with a new car. And a new house. Not just a house, as you can imagine. More of a manor.

The only thing I have to do, and rather quickly, is to stop my husband from opening his email. He doesn’t open his email that often. I don’t want him to see the message I asked my divorce lawyer to send last week.

1035. Uncle Kemp

Today in Australia and New Zealand it is ANZAC Day. ANZAC stands for Australia and New Zealand Army Corps and is on the anniversary of the greatest defeat at Gallipoli during WWI. The day celebrates the memory of all fallen soldiers and those who served.

I want to tell you a fairly silly thing about my great-uncle, Kemp Scrimshaw, who served in the First World War. He was called Uncle Kemp, although his real name was William Hector. I never knew him, but I happen to live today in the same town in which he died. So every ANZAC Day I visit his grave in the Veterans’ Cemetery and place a poppy on it. Such are the everyday people living ordinary lives, who served in brutal wars…

My older brothers and sisters knew him. He worked in a factory that made lollies. (We call them lollies – some countries call them candy and some sweets and some bonbons and some confectionary and so on.) Anyway, Uncle Kemp worked in a lolly factory after the First World War and always brought my brothers and sisters lots and lots of lollies! Lots of lovely lollies!

I think of his kindness every ANZAC Day when I place the poppy. You see, his grave is only a few feet away from the entrance to the biggest lolly factory in the country!

May he, and all who served, rest in peace.

1034. Dudley comes to stay

Don’t get me wrong, Granny loved having her grandchildren come to stay. One at a time, you understand. At her age the last thing she wanted was to be worn to a frazzle looking after a large brood of pre-schoolers. She had fourteen grandchildren in all, but not all of them were little.

So little Dudley (“I’m going to be four in two months”) came to stay. Just for a day and a night.

It was ten in the evening. Granny had just gone to bed and turned out the bedside light, when a little voice next to her head said, “Granny can I get into bed with you? I feel sick.”

“Of course you can, dear,” said Granny.

Dudley’s breath was wheezy. He fell asleep cuddled up to Granny. Granny lay awake all night listening. In the morning Dudley was better.

“Thank you, Granny,” said Dudley as he kissed her goodbye.

“I love having you stay with me,” said Granny. But, oh, she was tired, so very tired.

1033. That’s because

Your lips are as sweet as honey.
– That’s because I’ve been cooking dinner and tasting it to make sure it’s to your liking.

Your hands are soft and fragrant.
– That’s because I’ve been doing the laundry in the tub because your washing machine is broken.

Your hair is wild and natural and lovely.
– That’s because I’ve been up the hill out the back in the wind collecting firewood to warm the house.

Your body is lithe and perfect, like a model in an advertising centrefold of popular magazines.
– That’s because I spend hours digging your vegetable garden and mowing your lawns.

Your walk is as graceful as a gazelle.
– That’s because I walk your dog every day.

Your taste in clothes is impeccable.
– That’s because I buy the occasional thing with money earned from working a forty hour week.

You are the perfect woman. Marry me.
– I’m outta here.

1032. News flash

Mrs Myrtle Capstick, a widow, has struck it lucky. She had a dream with the lottery’s winning numbers. She used those numbers and is now $1,000,000 richer.

“I knew the minute I woke up that these were my lucky numbers, so I wrote them down,” said an overwhelmed Mrs Capstick.

Dr Harry Shinburg, Professor of Mathematics at the University of Myrtlebridge, said the chances of that happening were astronomical. “It’s astronomical enough getting all six numbers in a row, but to get them in a dream is astronomically astronomical”.

Vladimir Staffordshire, secretary of the Sceptics’ Society, said that sadly there was no creature in a parallel universe waving the numbers at Mrs Capstick in a dream. “It’s a fluke,” he said. “That’s all it is. There’s nothing preternatural about it.”

Over three hundred comments have been made on the social media. Many say they’ve had a similar experience, although the prize money has been considerably smaller. Norma Booner said, “Wow! Wow! One million! In a dream! Wow!”

“I’m just over the moon,” said Mrs Capstick. “Just over the moon. I received these numbers in a dream. Call it what you will, it happened. Ironically, the first thing I want to buy with my money is a new bed and mattress. If only my husband was still alive to share the excitement! Who said dreams don’t come true? I’ve never won a penny before. To think, after forty-seven years of taking these same dreamed numbers and it’s at last paid off!”

1031. Sickle

Last week I was clearing the weeds and long grass along the roadside in front of my house. Would you believe? The weed-eater ran out of fuel just when there was only a little bit left to do.

In my shed there was an old sickle, one from the old days, wedged between the wall and the dwang.  I’d never used it before, and although it was a bit rusted and blunt, I thought it would do the trick.

So I’m out there cutting the grass on the side of the road, and this car stops. It’s an old man. He gets out and he says, “Son, don’t you know how to use a sickle properly?” And I said “Of course I know how to use a sickle properly.”

He takes the sickle off me and starts cutting the grass with it, with a sweeping motion away from his body, and not towards his body like I’d been doing. “You’ll do yourself some damage,” he said, “if you don’t use it properly.”

He then gets into his car and drives off. These know-alls drive me nuts. They go around sticking their noses into everyone else’s business. It really pisses me off. So I kept doing it my way because his way didn’t work properly and the old guy with a carrot up his bum annoyed the hell out of me. I could get really stuck into the grass cutting doing it my way. It was a lot faster.

Anyway, as I say, that was last week. The doctors are still not sure if they’ll have to amputate my left leg below the knee.

1030. Welcome to my little dinner party

Welcome to my little dinner party! And thank you, Deidre, for the kind compliments. Yes, I do love to do things nicely. A touch of class, as they say!

Of course I have been blessed with having inherited my great grandmother’s dinner set. They say Queen Victoria had a similar set. It was a set of twelve, but over the years the occasional piece has been broken or gone missing. But having seven of us here at this little dinner party, it’s no trouble finding enough settings for each course. I do like to do things properly!

I thought there were seven soup dishes but could find only six. I searched everywhere. And then I remembered! Problem solved! You’re all be able to have soup! I had been using one of them as the dog bowl.