New elves for old

There was once an art teacher who worked very hard and was very honest, but still could not earn enough to live upon. At last all she had in the world was gone, save for heaps of clean laundry, stacks of unpaid bills, and a dishwasher full of clean dishes.

She laid out these stacks and heaps, all ready to fold, shuffle, and unload, meaning to rise early in the morning and get to work (right after she drank a pot of black coffee and skimmed the Dallas Morning News). Her conscience was clear and her heart light amidst all her troubles. Alas, her father fractured his femur, and she left her thatched cottage all in a rush before the first birds twittered to wake the day.

The art teacher consigned her Texas cares to Heaven and went to Nebraska without passing Go or collecting $200. She fell asleep for brief periods on the cot in Dad's hospital room between blood pressure readings, phlebotomists' struggles with uncooperative veins, and the incessant beeping of IV machines.

After twelve days, the art teacher returned to Texas, surveyed her condo, and to her great wonder, found that elves had not done ANYTHING. Not one dang thang! She knew not what to say or think at such an odd thing not happening. What were those elves doing all this time? Riding around in Willie Nelson's biodiesel limo? The overflowing basket of laundry was still unfolded. The bills were still unpaid. Clean dishes still filled the not-yet-paid-off GE dishwasher. The elves hadn't put clean sheets on the bed, deleted the spam e-mail, or ousted the scary celery in the vegetable crisper.

"This celery should go to the dumpster," she said. "Who will take it to the trash?"
"Not us," said the elves.

"These clothes are wrinkled," she said. "Who will froof them in the dryer, then hang and fold them?"
"Not us," said the elves.

"My feet hurt," she said. "You elves have anything new in your footwear department?" "Not us," said the elves. "Most folks just wear flip-flops these days."

"Well, if you think I'm going to share my fresh-baked Jiffy Mix corn muffins or sew you guys teeny-tiny leiderhausen to cover your nakedness, you are sadly mistaken," said the increasingly disgruntled art teacher.

"Doesn't matter," said the elves, looking up from their text-messaging. "We used your credit card to buy a genie on eBay, a vowel on Wheel Of Fortune, and a timeshare at a nudist colony. Plus, the Antiques Roadshow guy appraised this lamp."

1 comment:

Genevieve said...

I was just thinking today that it had been a while since you had posted. I'm sorry to hear about your dad, and I hope he is doing all right.

As for the job, something will turn up. Meanwhile, keep in mind that there's always sub teaching. (Ugh.)


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