
When You Wish Upon a Broom
I woke up to find myself in the red-velvet interior of one of Master Eli’s coat pockets. I was obviously considerably smaller than my normal two and a half inches of height.
“I’m sorry, Master. I know I am not supposed to misuse the Magic Hat. But I couldn’t help it. It was there. And I wanted a girlfriend so badly…”
“Mickey, I don’t even have to punish you. You’ve already gotten the consequences you deserve. You can’t have sex with one…”
“Master? How do I stop these aggressive brooms?” the quiet boy said sounding on the edge of desperation.
“…let alone TWO brooms! You should have used the animate object spell on one of those limestone statues Dizzyglitter is always carving. At least they are supposed to look like Sylphs. What are the brooms’ names, Mickey?”
“Merrydew and Cannabis,” Mickey squeaked.
“Give them new orders by name, Bob.” The Master’s voice seemed to be suppressing a slight chuckle.
I climbed up to the edge of the pocket and looked out.
“Merrydew, sweep the floors. Cannabis, alphabetize the potion bottles.”
I saw the two brooms stop chasing Bob and take up their new tasks. Mickey was laid up on the exam table, his body naked except for fur and a huge bandage on his personal love parts. I was pretty sure that was the consequences the Master spoke of, but I didn’t want to think about how it came to be.
Then I looked up and saw Master Eli looking down at me and picking me up in his gloved left hand. He lifted me up in front of his scowling face.
“You, I believe have been a very naughty girl, Derfentwinkle. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I am very sorry, Master Eli. I was always planning to return to your service. But the crows contacted me by telepathy and told me where to find my friend Dollinglammer. And she had news of my poor sister.”
“You left with some of the magic given you by the Magic Hat, but none of the training you were supposed to get from me.”
“Are you going to punish me?”
“Well, of course not. What did a student ever learn from being punished beyond how much they should hate their teacher? You saw the White Stag inside the hat. That means you were chosen and must stay with me until your quest is completed.”
“My quest? Is it to free the village of Mortimer’s
Mudwallow?”
“No, of course not. I mean, the Stag doesn’t tell me much about the future. Just that you have a quest and we are tasked with helping you.”
He put me gently down on the cold stone floor, took a vial of purple liquid from one of his other pockets, and sprinkled some on my head. With dizzying suddenness, I was normal-sized again.
“We need to dress you in an apprentice’s robe like Mickey is supposed to be wearing if the sex-crazed brooms hadn’t torn it off him.”
“No. I don’t wear clothes. None of my family ever has.”
“It’s not an option. You need to wear a protective enchantment, both from Bluebottom’s mind control and Master Pippen’s influence spells.”
“Does it have to be a robe? Bob doesn’t wear a robe.”
“Do you want an enchanted leather jerkin like Bob wears? Complete with magical advertising signs for our Sorcery business?”
“No, ah… can it be a necklace, or a hat?”
“Not to hold the spell powers I will make it with.”
“You can wear your apprentice robe open in the front like I do. I like to show off my manly abs,” said Mickey.
“I can probably make a cloak or a cape,” Master Eli suggested.
“Why do so many Sylphs prefer to be nude?” quiet Bob asked Master Eli.
“Sylphs are naturally immune to heat and cold, so they don’t need clothing to protect them from those things. And they like the freedom of movement they have with nothing binding to wear. They don’t need clothes the way Elves and Slow Ones and Brownies do. There are even Elves that make magical necklaces, collars, and rings to keep them warm or cool so they can be nude also.”
“But some of us just like to be naked all the time,” I said, not really understanding why Bob didn’t know that already.
Bob was looking at me as I stood there naked in front of him. He had a shy smile on his cute face. It gave me an unexpected thrill to realize it.




















Moldy Old the Story’s Told
Yes, I am old. I am not merely feeling old as school teachers do at the end of a school day, I am retired, I am on Medicare, and I am literally an old man. I am even old enough and mature enough to know what the word “literally” actually means and use it correctly in a sentence.
I don’t hear things as well as I used to. I don’t see as well as I once did. Being partially red and green colorblind, I don’t see colors as vividly as I used to. I have learned why old goobers like me let their glasses ride low over their nose. You can look over your glasses at the things around you that you don’t really want to see.
As an author of highly imaginative nonsense, I am really beginning to understand why “dirty old man” jokes are a thing. Writing a fairy story has led me to draw and write about a bunch of nude fairies. It isn’t really so much a sexual-perversion thing as it is a memory of and a longing for something that I no longer have in my life. It’s also the same sort of mental quirkiness as the “being a nudist” thing. I am not interested in the ugly pornographic sort of things, more the innocent, pristine, and long-gone things of youth.
And I see things that I know aren’t really there. Eyes staring at me from the bushes at night. Fairies flitting around the autumn leaves on bug wings. The back half of a ghost dog walking out the back door of the house even though the door isn’t open. I would doubt that I have ever seen a UFO if it weren’t for the fact that I was younger for the first two and my eldest son was with me and saw the third one too.
So, I admit that I have become a crazy old coot. But the best thing about being an old coot is the fact that I have earned it. I worked hard for a lifetime. I taught English competently for thirty-one years. I successfully raised three kids to adulthood. I have been a stable and useful part of society for more than forty years. So, I earned my crazy old cootishness. And I mean to enjoy it while I still have it.
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Filed under autobiography, commentary, fairies, humor, oldies, Paffooney