Quaking in her Boots, Not!

Story which includes Dear Winifred for Feb. 21

     Damn it!  Winifred thought to herself, as she brushed cigarette ash off her sweater and pants and onto the white carpet.  At least it used to be white, but within a two foot radius of her desk, it was now kind of a slate gray, for that very reason.  No one said anything after a co worker happened to mention it to Winifred, and she had gone ballistic, screaming cuss words, with little drops of spittle flying every which way.  Somewhere, there was a photo snapped by someone, showing Winifred resembling a rabid dog.  She quickly jarred another cigarette loose from the pack in her desk drawer and set it ablaze.   Two more hours, s**t!  She picked up the Dear Winifred letter that some miserable idiot had sent in.  Now what was their problem, couldn't get the new box of Sugared Wangos open? 

 

     "Dear Winifred, my sister and me are both vying for the affection of the same guy.  'Jerry' was sweet on me, but I made the mistake of introducing him when he was picking me up for a date.  My sister was intrigued, to put it delicately, and stared open-mouthed at him.  Right away, I could tell "Jerry' was interested in her also.  I don't know what to do.  'Jerry' is perfect, but with the strain he's causing between my sister and I, seeing him is just not worth it.   Should I mention this to my sister?  I don't want to cause any trouble between us.  Signed Jealous."

 

     Winifred stared at the wall above her desk in disgust, exhaled a cloud of blue smoke, and attacked her keyboard with a vengeance. 

     "Dear Jealous, what are you, a stack of human pancakes, and 'Jerry's' some kind of maple syrup?  Well, he does sound like a bit of a sap; eh, ha, ha!  I'd say what your sister is a lot more than 'intrigued', I think the phrase you should have used here is "wants all-you-can-eat-at-the-'Jerry' Cafe.  And what do you mean by 'sweet', that you both want to shag him?  Might I suggest alternating days?  One day it's your turn, the next is your sister.  I guaranty you'll hear no complaints from 'Jerry'.  It's either that, or having to listen to your sister go on and on about what a stud this 'Jerry' is; Winifred."

   

     She scowled and forwarded it to the editor, so it would be included in tomorrow's online newspaper.  Now it was time to turn her attention to The Fashion Round-Up column.  Oh boy, her least-favorite thing.  Hey, how about pants made from raw steak?  Maybe that way, all the pathetic losers who wrote into the Dear Winifred column would get their privates ripped of by the ravenous dogs and bleed out before they could make it home long enough to write in to her.

 

 

     At last, she was done with her bullshit work; it was time to get the hell out of this hell-hole for the day.  She took one last drag on her cigarette and angrily stabbed it out in the astray, which was overflowing; she brushed the ashes off the table and stood up and also brushed the remnants off her clothing, thereby adding to the grayness.  She walked out into the hallway and turned right, heading for the front door, fully expecting the grating voice of her father-in-law to scream out 'Where the hell did you think you're going?" but nothing; he must have already left.  It must be nice to own this b***h and leave whenever you felt like it.  She was rounding the corner, steps from freedom, when she almost collided with a very angry looking dude in a 'Skull-Buddy' tee shirt, and with rage distorting his feature into a kaleidoscope of reds and purples. 

 

     "Can I help you?"

 

     "Yeah, you can apologize for almost running me over, then you can point me in the direction of Winifred Downy's office."

 

     Winifred's dick radar warning alarm immediately went off.  If ever there was a dick, this guy was it.  "Oh, I'm sorry, she's already left for the day; perhaps I can help you?"

 

     "Well, I was going to complain about some 'advice' she gave my wife, and now she's left me and went on a 'sabbatical' to Europe."   

 

      "Well, if you'd tell me exactly what advice Winifred gave you, maybe I'd how to react?"

 

     Storm clouds gathered on the guy's face, and he screwed up his face in rage, as he spit, "She wrote in that she was unhappy with me, and longed for something different, so Winifred suggested going to Europe, because the men in certain parts would have sex with a donkey wearing a wig..."

 

     Winifred burst out laughing; if you asked her, that was pretty good!

 

      Storm-Cloud Man apparently didn't think so.  "I'm dying over here, and your laughing?"

 

     "Oh, don't tie your thong underwear in a granny knot, calm down sir; I wasn't laughing AT you, I was laughing NEXT to you!"

 

     "Well, you sure sound like her.  If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were her!"

 

     Winifred stared at him, and decided enough of this s**t; and answered, "I sure wish I was, cause then I would reply by doing this!" and she flicked the cigarette she'd still been smoking right at Storm-Cloud Man's chest.

 

 

     "Guard!" came the cry from somewhere down the cell block.  Winifred thought I sure hope that lazy-a*s judge calls my case soon!  She still couldn't believe Storm-Cloud Man had filed assault charges against her.  She wanted out of here, yesterday!

 

 

The End

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Marie]

Finally Winifred is where she belongs. Maybe they'll keep her there, and he can give advice to the inmates.

[Michael Stevens]

Hey, an untapped revenue stream for her!