(no subject)
My prompt: Aunt Clara had, for years, labored under the delusion that I was not only perpetually four years old, but also a girl. A Xmas Story
“It’s not fair. I’m not a fauntling any more. And I’m not a girl!” Frodo stamped one furry foot.
Primula sighed gently. Frodo was becoming quite the handful now that he was eleven. “But you know how hard Aunt Clara works on your presents, dearest. Just put it on. Now.” The “now” had just an edge of steel in it.
Handful or not, Frodo Baggins was a well-behaved young hobbit lad and off he went to try on Aunt Clara’s latest offering.
The dragging of his feet told Primula and Drogo that Frodo was ready to model his outfit. Frodo stood sadly, his head hanging dejectedly. The outfit was pink, and fluffy. It had bunny ears and a cotton tail. It was in fact a bunny outfit.
But the expected explosion came from Drogo, not Frodo. “That’s it! I don’t care if she is your third aunt twice removed, Primmie!”
Frodo raised his head, hope glimmering in his eyes.
Primula spluttered, “But, Drogo, dearest … she worked so … oh dear.” Her eyes rested on Frodo’s feet and she understood what she had not before.
Drogo Baggins stood forth. “No son of mine is going to parade around in a bunny costume with FEET. That’s a step too far. What does she think Frodo is - a Man? Humph.”
End
“It’s not fair. I’m not a fauntling any more. And I’m not a girl!” Frodo stamped one furry foot.
Primula sighed gently. Frodo was becoming quite the handful now that he was eleven. “But you know how hard Aunt Clara works on your presents, dearest. Just put it on. Now.” The “now” had just an edge of steel in it.
Handful or not, Frodo Baggins was a well-behaved young hobbit lad and off he went to try on Aunt Clara’s latest offering.
The dragging of his feet told Primula and Drogo that Frodo was ready to model his outfit. Frodo stood sadly, his head hanging dejectedly. The outfit was pink, and fluffy. It had bunny ears and a cotton tail. It was in fact a bunny outfit.
But the expected explosion came from Drogo, not Frodo. “That’s it! I don’t care if she is your third aunt twice removed, Primmie!”
Frodo raised his head, hope glimmering in his eyes.
Primula spluttered, “But, Drogo, dearest … she worked so … oh dear.” Her eyes rested on Frodo’s feet and she understood what she had not before.
Drogo Baggins stood forth. “No son of mine is going to parade around in a bunny costume with FEET. That’s a step too far. What does she think Frodo is - a Man? Humph.”
End