Mystical Meeting...
It’s an odd thing to have an encounter with such a popular entity as the Missed-you-while-you-were-away fairy. I had heard rumors from such reliable places like www.reliableumors.com and www.yeahthatstheticket.com but to come home and find him in the middle of his work was a wonder to behold. Actually, he was taking a snooze on the couch and when you find someone who looks like this:
lying on your couch, it can be quite traumatic.
I told Maggie to jump on him but she only looked at me and wagged her tail. Luckily when she wagged her tail it hit the coffee table with enough force to create a loud bang which in turn woke up the Missed-you-while-you-were-away fairy (though I obviously didn’t know that’s who he was at the time.) However, he awoke with such a start that he leaped over the end table ran into one of the bedrooms and locked the door. After roughly an hour of convincing him that I was not one of the Easter Bunny’s “goons” he decided to come out.
As he stepped into the hallway I swore I could smell a pungent combination of Bratwurst, beer, Phillies Blunts, and True Love by Elizabeth Arden. I couldn’t help but look down as his gut pressed hard against mine in the tight space of the hallway and I wondered if the yellowish brown stain on his pink tutu was mustard or something more sinister.
He introduced himself as The Missed-you-while-you-were-away fairy (heretofore referred to as “Ted” though no first name was ever given) and told me that my subconscious mind had created a psychic link to him through the agony of being without my wife for an entire week. At which point I reminded him that I am a thoroughly qualified senior psychology major that had heard the word psychic at least twice and was relatively sure it was a bunch of malarkey. He then leveled with me that he was secretly running a scam by which he was stealing the teeth of little kids before the tooth fairy could get there and selling them on the black market to the Keeblers. As soon as he said their name he hunched over grabbing his wand and scanned the hallway peering as hard as he could. He told me that the Keeblers were sneaky and it would be in my best interest not to bring the subject up again. I was about to remind him that I had not brought up the subject in the first place but he brushed past me and making his way into the master bedroom.
As I turned around to follow him there was a brilliant flash of hot-pink and hair (it was kind of like the chicken dance after an eight ball) and out of no where came this bag:
He told me that he believed that my wife deserved this present and if I accepted I waived all right to litigate at a later date. I accepted. It was amazing to me that they would use the exact same retail outlets that we use, so I asked him about it. He started to explain the economy of trying to run a labor force that could produce anything a person might desire. There was this cost and that cost, let alone labor. He seemed to know quite a bit about the subject and kept talking as he made his way toward the door. As he was leaving he started talking about how the Christmas elves used to work with them but then there was some sort of armed revolt which was how the “you-know-who’s” (he signed the letter K) got involved.
He was on his way out the door thanking me for not turning him over to “Hoppy’s Gang” when I asked him if there wasn’t something a little more formal that he might be able to wrap the present in. I told him that it wasn’t that I was ungrateful but presentation has a lot to do with gift giving occasions. So he sighed a deep, irritated sigh and headed back to the bedroom. With a flick of his wand there was a bright flash, a loud crack, and a slightly used plain white box was sitting on the bed:
I told him that the package looked eerily familiar to the package used by the Oh-crap-it’s-the-morning-of-your-birthday-,-I-forgot-to-buy-a-giftbag-and-I-have-the-gift-wrapping-abilities-of-a-babbon fairy (heretofore referred to as Jean D’Aubigne though no name was ever given). He told me that he was related.
As I was finally allowing him to leave, I suddenly realized that I had meant to go and get a haircut but now it was too late. I told him of my predicament and the little yellowish spot on his tutu began to sparkle. As it turns out, he had always dreamed of becoming a “stylist” but had never had the grades for it in school. Before I could begin to inquire about the academic requirements of beauty school, he rubbed his hands over the stain on his shirt and tussled them through my hair like a man driven by static electricity. Afterwards, he told me to go look in the mirror. To my amazement my hair was cut in its usual style but had this shimmery glow about it. I began to thank him adamantly but he told me that I needed to go quickly and take a hot shower. I refused. I told him that I thought Melanie would like my shimmering hair. Then he told me that the last person who had not taken a shower used to be buxom beautiful brunette woman and that I knew who she was. I thought as hard as I could and said, “You mean ____ (if you are a brunette you may put your name here)?” And he said, “No, Carrot top.” At which point I ran to the shower.
Now I have a wonderful present for Mel when she gets home and my hair looks like someone with Parkinson’s has taken a bleach marker to my head. What an eventful day.
-DD
Oh and for those of you that want to know what the fairy brought her:
It looks a little red in the picture but it’s really more of a burnt-orange. Plus it is corduroy. She tried it on last weekend and it looks great.