Quite frankly, Mavis, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. He sent you on a wild goose chase, and you were as silly as a goose to follow.
You knew from the start that he was loose as a goose. Before that you wouldn’t say boo to a goose, and now you’ve really cooked your goose. It gives me goose bumps just thinking about it.
I told you to tell him that you were making a wigwam for a goose’s bridle, but no! you had to have him think you were the goose that laid the golden egg.
It’s why I baked you a gooseberry pie and written down a list of ways you’ve plucked your goose. Take a gander while you eat instead of swanning around like a peacock.
This entry was posted in
A Story a Day, Creative, Fiction, Flash fiction, Tales, Yarns and tagged flash, gander, goose, idiom, peacock, swan on . May 4, 2022
( Day 2 of a week of retelling traditional folktales.)
The vicar was furious. Someone, some worthless creature, had stolen his goose. It had been intended that the goose would be feasted upon on Christmas Day. “Kill the fatted goose!” had been the pre-Christmas cry in the vicarage for a number of years.
“I want all to sit,” blasted the vicar to the congregation. “All sit! All be seated!”
The congregation sat.
“The person who stole the goose is not yet seated,” declared the vicar.
“Yes I am,” called out Harvey O’Donoghue.
This entry was posted in
A Story a Day, Creative, Fiction, Flash fiction, Tales, Yarns and tagged christmas, congregation, flash, goose, thief, vicar on . August 11, 2021
Annabelle was a bit of a snob when it came to cooking for a festal day. There was always the turkey at Thanksgiving and Christmas and hers was always bigger and better than anyone else’s.
“Oh, your turkey sounds awful. Ours was delightful! And the stuffing!”
But on a particular Christmas, Annabelle had the chance to replace the traditional turkey with a traditional goose.
“Oh, are you having humdrum turkey? That’s very run-of-the-mill. We’re having goose. Hubert’s getting one from the farmer down the road.”
Annabelle had never done a goose before. Being a domestic goose and not a wild one, it had plenty of wonderful goose fat. But who cared? Christmas came but once a year.
The goose fat overflowed in the roasting pan. The oven caught on fire. The house caught on fire. The whole shebang burnt down.
“She certainly cooked her own goose,” observed a witty neighbour.
Annabelle didn’t think that funny at all. Some people have no sense of humour.