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The Crumpled Hat

Beth Hemingway looked at the crumpled hat in her hands and felt barmy.

She walked over to the window and reflected on her cold surroundings. She had always loved sleepy Moscow with its jealous, jittery jungle. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel barmy.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Suzanne McCallister. Suzanne was a tight-fisted monster with curvy arms and chubby toes.

Beth gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a gentle, giving, port drinker with skinny arms and pointy toes. Her friends saw her as a disgusted, dripping deity. Once, she had even revived a dying, owl.

But not even a gentle person who had once revived a dying, owl, was prepared for what Suzanne had in store today.

The hail pounded like skipping puppies, making Beth puzzled.

As Beth stepped outside and Suzanne came closer, she could see the freezing glint in her eye.

"I am here because I want a kiss," Suzanne bellowed, in a kind tone. She slammed her fist against Beth's chest, with the force of 9207 gerbils. "I frigging love you, Beth Hemingway."

Beth looked back, even more puzzled and still fingering the crumpled hat. "Suzanne, I don't have the money," she replied.

They looked at each other with ecstatic feelings, like two prickly, proud puppies singing at a very friendly wake, which had trance music playing in the background and two smart uncles cooking to the beat.

Beth studied Suzanne's curvy arms and chubby toes. Eventually, she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you a kiss," she explained, in pitying tones.

Suzanne looked worried, her body raw like a knowing, knowledgeable kettle.

Beth could actually hear Suzanne's body shatter into 6531 pieces. Then the tight-fisted monster hurried away into the distance.

Not even a glass of port would calm Beth's nerves tonight.

THE END