Tag Archives: short short

1711. Mirror, mirror

Oswald stood in front of the mirror. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” You see, Oswald was having trouble choosing who to invite to the Fitter and Turners’ Annual Ball.

Should he ask Lillian? She was plain but pleasant. And capable. My goodness me!

Should he ask Siobhán? Should they fall in love he’d go through life being asked, Why is her name pronounced Shivaughan?

Should he ask Bernadette? The list was countless… Annette, Dulce, Barbara, Agatha…

Hence Oswald’s question: Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all? He got the fright of his life when the mirror answered: YOU ARE!

He asked again: Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?

YOU ARE!

Quite frankly, the mirror was no help, although it rather flattered Oswald’s vanity to have his sweetness surpass all others. When he had spoken into the mirror he wasn’t expecting a reply. He was really only talking to himself.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?

YOU ARE!

Oswald asked his mother about the mirror.

“Goodness!” she said. “You didn’t know even after all these years? It’s a battery driven mirror that always answers that ridiculous question: Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all? The battery must be getting flat.”

Sure enough! Oswald found the battery and replaced it.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?

YOU ARE a total nutcase.

1709. Molly, the last of her kind

It was a sad day when the animal known as Molly died in the zoo. She was the last known specimen of her kind. For years thousands of visitors would line up to view “MOLLY, THE LAST OF HER KIND.” No one was exactly sure what evolutionary line she belonged to, although scientists had categorized her all over the show. They definitely knew her to be some sort of mammal.

The zoo had hoped to start a breeding program. Fairly early on there were two females and two males, but the males and females seemed to show little interest in one another. Then three of them died of some unknown and sudden cause, and that left Molly on her own for what must have been a good thirty years.

And now she’s gone. Forever.

When the Spargundians invaded planet Earth and ruthlessly slaughtered the billions of what seemed to be an intelligent species, they took home only the four samples of the species. The proposed breeding program at the Spargundian Zoological Gardens didn’t pay off. The leader of the Spargundians has since decreed that when further planetary invasions take place, they must bring home a minimum of twelve intelligent specimens for a breeding program.

In the meantime, Molly is in the hands of a taxidermist getting stuffed.

1708. The Oxford Comma

Even though Aneliese was American and Quentin was British they managed to forge a relationship that spanned across the great Atlantic Ocean, and they married. The marriage was made in heaven, although heaven had omitted one important factor: Analiese used the Oxford Comma and Quentin didn’t.

For those who don’t give much of a hoot about what the Oxford Comma is, it is the comma that precedes the final “and” in a list. For example: The flag is red, white, and blue. That’s what Aneliese would write. Quentin would write: The flag is red, white and blue (without the second comma).

For each academic tome that Aneliese produced to prove her point, Quentin would provide another. The discussion thundered throughout their marriage, throughout the births of their six children, throughout retirement and venerable age. Eventually they both died. Their grown children planned the tombstone inscription:

Aneliese and Quentin, loved parents of Tom, Maggie, Jenny, Ernie, Zach, and Lucy.
Aneliese and Quentin, loved parents of Tom, Maggie, Jenny, Ernie, Zach and Lucy.
Aneliese and Quentin, loved parents of Tom, Maggie, Jenny, Ernie, Zach, and Lucy.
Aneliese and Quentin, loved parents of Tom, Maggie, Jenny, Ernie, Zach and Lucy.
Aneliese and Quentin, loved parents of Tom, Maggie, Jenny, Ernie, Zach, and Lucy.

The tombstone awaits. Discussion rages.

Repeat of Story 209: Angora rabbit

(This is the fifth story in a week or so of repeats. “Angora rabbit” first appeared on this blog on 7 May 2014.)

Anton had a cat. The neighbour had a beautiful white angora rabbit. The rabbit was in its hutch. The cat was free.

One day the neighbour was at work, and Anton’s cat turned up on Anton’s doorstep with the rabbit. It was dead. The rabbit was larger than the cat. The cat had dragged the rabbit through the mud.

Anton panicked. He washed the dead rabbit’s angora fur thoroughly; hair shampoo and all. He dried it with a hair dryer. The rabbit looked as good as new, but dead. Anton crept over to the neighbour’s place, and put the dead rabbit back in its hutch.

Several days later, Anton chattered to the neighbour over the fence. This was the dreaded moment.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” said the neighbour. “My rabbit died.”

“Did it?” said Anton, feigning surprise.

“I buried it in the garden,” said the neighbour.

“Poor thing,” said Anton. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“That’s not all,” said the neighbour. “After I buried it, I came home from work and it was lying dead back in its hutch.”

Repeat of Story 330: Blueberry-persimmon pie

(This is the third story in a week or so of repeats. “Blueberry-persimmon pie” first appeared on this blog on 5 September 2014.)

I’ve just spent all morning making a pie. It’s a blueberry-persimmon pie. I’ve never put those two things together before, and haven’t read of it. I hope it tastes okay.

It’s the persimmon season, and not the blueberry one. So I’ve bought a packet of blueberries imported from California or somewhere. The persimmons I got from a stall at the side of the road. Some kids selling bags of persimmons for three dollars each. There’s about twenty in each bag.

Making pies is not my thing. First of all, my husband goes crackers at me if I buy pastry.

“Just make the pastry yourself, you dumb idiot,” he says. So I have to sneak the bought pastry into the house, because, quite frankly, I can’t make pastry. In fact, I hide the pastry sheets in my neighbour’s freezer. She’s very good like that. She understands. And then when I need a sheet of pastry, I creep over and grab it out of her freezer. Provided my husband’s not home, of course. I couldn’t think of anything worse than him going ape-shit at me over a sheet of pastry.

So I mixed the blueberries up with slices of persimmon that I cut up. I hope my husband likes it. It’s a taste he might be a bit unfamiliar with, but at least I can say it’s something slightly new, and it doesn’t hurt to try things. Persimmons are as old-fashioned as the hills. I’ll tell him that. I’ll tell him that his great-grandmother would’ve had a persimmon tree. He likes history. He’ll like that. He’ll eat it because of his great-grandmother. Otherwise he’ll hit me and tell me to stop baking foreign shit.

I hope he eats it, and that the new taste will stop him from noticing the other stuff I’ve put in.

1687. A seemingly insignificant event

It’s strange, is it not, that so often a seemingly insignificant event or thing can suddenly turn into something momentous? A simple walk to the corner shop for sugar can be the occasion for meeting a future spouse. An appointment with the dentist can be the occasion where one picks up a disease and dies. A visit to not-the-usual lottery outlet can mean winning millions of dollars.

Anita was more than aware of such possible causality when one lovely summer’s day she decided to go to the zoo. She went on her own. She liked that, because going to the zoo with other people could mean they’re more interested in the Mongolian wild ass than in the Australian pig-nosed turtle. At the zoo one needs to linger where ones interests lie, and chat casually to those around who may share a similar fascination.

On this particular visit Anita was captivated by the antics of the Malayan porcupine. A gentleman (quite good looking Anita thought) said, “Imagine sitting on one of those and getting those spikes shoved up your bum.” Anita thought the comment was a little crass but laughed pleasantly enough. The man’s name was Chadwick.

Then she thoroughly enjoyed the barking of the Indian muntjak. Her favourite thing however was seeing the hamadryas baboons. A man (quite good looking Anita thought) said to Anita that she shouldn’t really be feeding peanuts to the monkeys and Anita jokingly said she’d keep the peanuts for the Golden-rumped elephant shrew. The man roared with laughter. His name was Teddy. And then he got a sneezing fit which made Anita laugh and she said “You’re obviously allergic to Golden-rumped elephant shrew fur.”

Next, Anita had a lovely lunch in the zoo’s cafeteria; a cucumber sandwich and a lime milkshake. She finished with a slice of carrot cake which the waiter (quite good looking Anita thought) said was “on the house” because it was “yesterday’s”. The waiter’s name was Norman.

All in all, it was an enjoyable and successful day. Then Anita went home, which goes to show that not every insignificant event leads to something important.

1685. A wonderful Christmas gift

You’ve no idea the trouble Ivy went to, to get twelve lovely photographs of the wonderful family who lived next door. There were five in the Winchcombe Family: Mum, Dad, and their three beautiful daughters. The Winchcombes were about as ideal next door neighbours as one could hope for. And every Christmas they would bring Ivy a basket of the tastiest homemade shortbread possible. Glorious!

The trouble was that Ivy always had trouble knowing what best to give them in return. She’d done chocolates at least five times. And then she got this idea. Wonderful!

She would get a calendar printed with a different family photograph each month of the year. Ivy started early gathering the photographs together. It was a difficult task because she didn’t want to let her secret out. The photos were perfect. There was a beautiful one of the family gathering mushrooms in a green field. Another shot was of the family at a fair ground. The loveliest photograph of all was an official portrait taken of the family sitting on a rug in front of a lake. With swans. And trees. And flowers. And… oh lovely! Just lovely!

Ivy was so pleased with the calendar when it was finished that she couldn’t wait to give it to the family. But she must be patient. She mustn’t jump the gun. Only a week to go!

And then the three girls called in with a basket of Christmas shortbread and said that their parents were getting a divorce.