Winnie and the Genie

Time for another Friday Fictioneers tale. This may be a really off-beat reply to today’s prompt, but I was wanting to write about Winnie again. I kind of like her querulous personality. To read my other tales about Winnie, click here and here.

She and Raylene are home from their Florida trip and Winnie’s finding other interesting things. Today she’s visiting with Ernie Phelps, a retired friend and potential sweetheart.

Thanks for the photo prompt, Liz, and thanks again, Rochelle at Addicted to Purple for being such a patient and encouraging host to this FF group. I have to butter you up today, Rochelle, since my story is five words over the limit. I welcome suggestions from anyone as to how I can knock these five words off.

Photo prompt c. Liz Young

Winnie and the Genie

“Found it under them bushes. Oddest bottle I ever saw! I uncorked it and Poof! This female’s saying she’ll grant my every wish. One look at her and I says, ‘Back in this bottle right now, young lady.’ ”

Ernie’s jaw dropped. “You could’a been rich, Winnie! New house, fancy clothes…”

“Clothes? Ha! You should have seen her skimpy clothes. No…your ol’ ticker might’a stopped.”

“So where’s that bottle now?”

“In the lake. Sure wouldn’t want some man seeing that indecent outfit!”

Next morning Ernie headed for the coast. Entering a shop near the beach he pointed to a sign. “I want them scuba diving lessons.”

Fox and Hound: A Fable

The Quick Red Fox and the Howling Hound

dog-219868_640Once upon a time a man who lived all alone in a small farming village was given a pup. He was a gangly creature with funny floppy ears — no beauty prizes would he ever win — but the little hound was very loving and his owner grew very fond of him. Every day the man would take his dog out to the field with him as he hoed his corn; at night he’d put the hound in a pen in his back yard and go to bed.
fox winking

Down the street a ways lived an elderly widow with a big rambling back yard. One night a prowling fox found the place to his liking and took up residence under an old shed in this yard.

Thus began an interesting routine: at night the fox, off on his hunting expedition, would hurry past the dog’s pen. The hound would catch sight of it and would bark and howl. Then he’d settle down and sleep for some hours.

At the first light of dawn the fox would slip back to its den. The dog, catching a whiff of it, would start baying again.dog & cat

The owner didn’t know what was setting the dog off, but he concluded it must be some wild animal passing. Anyway, dogs do bark now and then. He gave the matter little thought until one morning his neighbor came banging on his door.

When he opened the door his neighbor shook a fist in his face. “You have to get rid of that howling hound! He’s keeping me awake all night long.”

The owner was amazed. “How can that be! My dog only barks a few times at night and a few times in the morning. It’s not like he’s barking all night long.”

“That may be,” said the scowling neighbor. “But I lie awake all night because I never know when he’s going to bark.”

So is he who anxiously anticipates troubles that is he certain will come sooner or later.

Epilogue: The dog was spared because the neighbor,floppy-ear dog after getting all hot and bothered about the issue and losing many nights of sleep, finally made his request to the one who could actually do something about the matter.

(Note: This is my adaptation of an old fable.)

 

The New Laptop

“Look! This laptop is loaded with the latest and the best software programme available,” he proclaimed, holding up his newest acquisition.

“Right. For the next two months.” His wife looked at the clerk, rolled her eyes and sighed. She’d been checking out jigsaw puzzles at the stationery store next door, now she berated herself for not being here in time to officially protest this purchase.

The clerk who’d rung up the sale sensed an approaching atmospheric disturbance and strolled toward the accessories aisle. She’d be within shouting distance if the customer asked for a refund in a minute or so.

“Dearest,” said the wife in a longsuffering tone. “Remember the last time you changed computer programmes and it took me three weeks to figure it out enough to do our women’s club monthly newsletter? Two months ago you got me this new cell phone with all the bells and whistles, and I still haven’t figured out how to reply to incoming messages.”

“It’s not so hard to figure out. Besides, your old phone was a dinosaur.”

“So is my brain. I’m technologically challenged, remember? You can’t keep throwing new devices and new programmes at me.”

“You have to keep up with the times, dear. You’d still be working with WordPerfect 3.0 if I wouldn’t have upgraded.”

“And Word Perfect 3.0 worked just fine.”

He sighed. She sighed. The marriage counselor standing behind them at the cash register grinned — and pulled his business card out of his shirt pocket.

I Didn’t Do It!

One day a little girl, just half–past three, snipping paper with a pair of child’s scissors, looked around and…

An hour or so later the girl was together with her mother, who was visiting with a friend, when one of the kittens wandered into the room. The girl’s mother caught sight of it and…

The innocent kitten wove itself around their legs, not realizing how odd it looked with the fur down its back raggedly trimmed, as if by an unskilled hand using rather dull scissors.

“What happened to this kitten! How did its fur get cut like that?” Mom asked, giving her daughter a suspicious glance.

“I don’t know. I didn’t do it.”

“Are you sure? It looks like someone might have snipped off its fur with a pair of small scissors.”

The little girl thought for a moment. “Maybe the mommy cat did it.”

The visitor looked away quickly and grinned. The mother tried to maintain a stern frown.

After the company left, the lecture of the day was, “If you’ve done something wrong, admit it.”

Word Press daily prompt: Denial

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mr Nobody
by Walter de la Mare

I know a funny little man,
As quiet as a mouse,
Who does the mischief that is done
In everybody’s house.
There’s no one ever sees his face,
And yet we all agree
That every plate we break was cracked
by Mr. Nobody.

‘Tis he who always tears our books,
who leaves our doors ajar;
he pulls the buttons from our shirts,
and scatters pins afar,
that squeaking door will always squeak,
because of this you see:
we leave the oiling to be done
by Mr Nobody.

He puts damp wood upon the fire,
So kettles cannot boil;
His are the feet that bring in mud
And all the carpets soil.
The papers always are mislaid;
who had them last but he?
There’s no one tosses them about
but Mr. Nobody.