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A Fairy “Tail” for Signora Teddy, to be read to her 7-year old at bedtime

The Bravest Tailor in the World ( a fairy tale remotely after a Fairytale by the Bros. Grimm)

There once lived a tailor in the fairy land of yore, namely Napping Hollow, in the Kingdom of THE USA during the reign of King Trump I, aka King Trump the “Wurst.” He (the tailor) was so spindly thin, his legs were like toothpicks and his chest was the width of a pencil box. He was timid and so light in weight that, when a fly buzzed above him, he would gyrate in the miniscule turbulence created by that pest’s wings, like you or I might gyrate in a force10 hurricane. That’s why his mother decreed that he should become a tailor to earn his fodder, rather than a blacksmith or a boxer like Muhammad Ali. Oh, yeah! The tailor’s name was Ichabod Crane. Ichabod suffered of a phobia—the fear of mice, and that’s why he preferred to sit out of their reach, high up on a table whenever he did some mending or worked on an alteration. He was always intent on keeping one eye on his dangerous needle and the other on--mice. Of course, while he kept on watching all cracks and crevices in walls and floor for man-eating rodents, he more than once managed to stitch a thumb to his codpiece. Mice, under the leadership of Mice King Putz, would stage their raids on our tailor’s saltine crackers or hos tasty cup of Ramen Noodles. But the real danger came from a swarm of ferocious flies that insisted on partaking of his meal. One day, at lunchtime, Mother Rotunda Crane brought him a slice of bread laden with plum jam, a treat that she usually kept for herself, the sly old biddy . . . . His mouth salivated in anticipation of the sweet treat, but he decided to set it aside till he repaired King Trump’s red ball cap that had to be finished in time for the king’s gala ball or press conference that evening. After all, the king had to look good at all times. Lo and behold, the mice appeared, but Mother Crane, a rotund giantess, stomped her feet in a threatening manner and the mice decided to get the hell away from her. But she ignored the imminent danger that came from a swarm of 7 (yes, make it SEVEN!) fruit flies. Sure enough, those pesky kamikazes dove into the jelly right up to their belly and buzzed, “Yum yum yum.” Ichabod paled because those were fighting words like Tora, Tora, Tora, as far as he could tell. But then he asked his mother, “Mama, am I a wimp or am I a mouse?” Mother Crane looked at him up and down, with critical eye, then stroked her chin in serious contemplation, and finally said: “Ichabod, I don’t rightly know; I have to ask Mouse King Putz who might know . Our tailor cut her off, saying, “Oh crap! I thought you told me my dad was a famous and noble Fuller Brush salesman! Now, this makes me really mad!" To show her how mad he was, he took a scrap piece of diaper canvass and swatted at that slice of whole-grain bread laden with delicious plum jam. As he gazed at the result, his eyes grew large as pies at what he saw. Nearly fully buried in that plum jelly were 7 fruit fly bodies. “Mother, hurray! Calloo, Calley!” he cried, “I may not be a man or mouse after all, no sir, madam, not even a wimp! I am the bravest tailor in the world—I have killed SEVEN in one whack.” He relieved his mother of all the cash she had squirreled away in her apron pocket and moseyed down to Bernard’s tattoo parlor. There he had the legend “Seven in one Whack” on his chest inscribed—although in small 8-pt letters on account of his narrow chest. From there, he went out into the world to smite giants and dragons wherever they could be found; alas, they all had gone out to lunch, and so, instead, he opened up a new Ye Olde Tailor Shope, this time without a mice population. Too, having gained the respect of every fly in the kingdom, he then busied himself by stitching both thumbs to his codpiece, and then proceeded to live happily ever after— Well, not till after he married Rapunzel, whose name, according to the renowned scholar and linguist Wilhelm Grimm, means “Wabreldolbla” in Sanskrit or translated to English, “Stick-horse” or possibly-- “Harlot.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Comments

of the whacky tales I used to tell my kids and nieces and nephews at bedtime. Sounds as though you may have some experience in that matter. maybe even let the kids have a line or two themselves? This was a fun read and I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Thanks ~ Geez.
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lol a fun read indeed. Will read to my boy. Hey you surely have a talent for story telling , actually for all the writes you post. I'm out of town this week, the last few days before I go back to work. I am honoured and of course overwhelmed that you thought of me and my son. È un grande piacere. Grazie mille signor K

Thank you...Teddy

Yeah, there used to be a program for kids on tv, "Fractured Fairy Tales," but I didn't need those for inspiration, lol. Glad my write amused you. Thanks, kind sir. Jerry

author comment

I'm pleased to see that my version of a perfectly normal bedtime story had amused you, and I hope it will have the same effect on your son. Oh--and the pleasure is all mine.
Thank you for reading, dear Signora.
Signor Jerry

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