Lamp Luck

Aladdin served sheiks and veiled ladies at Bosphorus Square Lamps.

On slow days, he cleaned the trade-ins. Noting the component materials, he checked for dents, damage, and neglect. He assessed usability: plugs, wires, oil wicks. He cleaned the lamps up and set a price. But none of them was magic. Aladdin could tell.

An elderly gentleman came in with an old fener. “It needs a good home,” he said.

Holding the lamp, Aladdin felt a nervous energy inside. “I’ll keep it for myself,” he said.

“It needs tea and baklava. Four o’clock, without fail.”

Aladdin did a happy dance inside.

A Watch for All Time

His Excellency, Herman Jay Rabbit, leaned against a case displaying all manner of timepieces, all keeping time at different speeds. Most of Wonderland had learned to live with this.

Rabbit had not. “My good sir, you have perverted time itself,” he said when the shopkeeper arrived from behind a brown curtain.

Fingering a loupe, he said, “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

“I always seem to be late.”

“For whom,” asked the man.

“Her Majesty.”

The man said, “There’s no watch fast enough to keep up with the Queen.”

“But I must arrive on time.”

“You’ll need a calculator.”

The Prodigal Fleece- An Ad

No one asks for woolens anymore. No bags full for BaaBaa’s master or his dame, especially none for the trekkers freezing in Nepal waiting to climb to the top of some freaking mountain. Which one? BaaBaa can’t remember, but he knows exactly when wool tanked and fleece took off.

Warm, washable, even woolly if you get the right stuff. And BaaBaa makes the right stuff. He has a reputation to live down as the black sheep of the family- a misspent childhood, years in Nepal’s wild, sacred heights. He’s redeemed himself.

This bad boy kicks the competition. Woolmark, eat your heart out.

Pro Bono Magic

Photo by Anna Tukhfatullina Food Photographer/Stylist on Pexels.com

A dusty sign in a hidden alley advertised, “Magic Wand: Party needs instantly.” A bell tinkled; Cinderella opened the door.

A wizened woman with a sharp face greeted her.

“You take charity cases,” Cinderella asked.

“We’re swamped. Can it wait?”

“The ball, isn’t it. Everyone’s been invited. But I can’t go like this.” Cinderella pointed to her rags.

“No family support?” The woman waved a hand over a crystal ball. “Guess not. A rat to drive the coach. Mice, lizards, transformed to assist. Glass slippers and a diaphanous gown.”

“A rat?”

“They never get lost. Get you back on time.”

The Customer is Wildly Wrong

The boat salesman overheard three men planning a rafting trip. When they approached the register, he estimated their combined weight at six hundred pounds and knew that the tub they’d picked would not make it through the calms, let alone the rapids.

“This one’s rated at two hundred fifty pounds. Two small women. Three children at most.”

He didn’t add that even one of these gentlemen would be enough to sink it.

“Well now, I reckon we can read,” said the ginger-haired man.

The mutton-chopped guy put down a credit card. “Customer’s always right.”

The salesman thought, Not this time.

Spinning the Proposal

“The spinning wheel’s two hundred. The spell’s another five hundred.”

“That’s outrageous,” the queen said pulling the hood of her cape to cover her widow’s peak. She took a card from her purse. “You do take Visa.”

He did. “How about a CosPlay evil fairy for the christening.”

“CosPlay? I want a professional.”

“Who’s gonna know?”

“You horrible dwarf. You have no idea. It’s hard to marry off a princess. You start as soon as they’re born. Then there’s preschool, private school, etiquette… They need skilled help and compelling stories to get to a happily-ever-after.”

“Like spinning straw into gold?”

Spinning Wool

The cottage was set back from the street, not at all gingerbread as you might expect. No dwarfs or princesses resided in the bright kitchen where a woman with waist-length crone gray hair, sat at a rhythmically circling wheel. “I need to spin. Someone’s collecting the skeins tomorrow.”

I asked about doctor’s visits for a study of healthcare options at Stanford. She answered, skeptical that yearly physicals made much difference. All the while her fingers moved in a subtle dance pulling the fluff of wool into ivory yarn.

“This is what keeps me healthy,” she said. “This magic wheel heals.”

Mirror Magic

It was only a matter of time before she broke me. That’s an occupational hazard of delivering bad news to an evil queen when you feel bound not to sugarcoat it.

I did warn her. After two unsuccessful assassination attempts, I ventured an opinion that Snow White had her own magic. Not appreciated. Evil zapped me, electric charge flowing from her fingers until the glass fought back. Magic glass does that. It exploded leaving her a bloody mess and me a disembodied spirit. Now that I’m free, I’ll find a way to dislodge the poison apple from Snow White’s throat.

Beyond the Looking Glass

Cleaning the many mirrors in the castle was a full time job. The blind lass, hired by the queen, felt her way up and down the craggy stones of the winding staircases. Doors opened into lighter shades of gray filled with solid shadows. She found her way through every room but one. That door was always locked. The mirror inside was magical.

Dreaming, she turned a key and entered the forbidden room. Blindsight rendered the planes of the walls a darker gray. The mirror, the room’s only tangible shape, beckoned. A grayscale world of touch emerged from behind the glass.

All Romantics Meet the Same Fate

Your mother is annoyed. She barks at the receptionist, “It’s all her fault I’m late.” Four minutes. But it was Mom who lost the address.

“If you want me, I’ll be in the car.”

Windows down in the mad heat, waiting forever for an apology that never comes. Long enough to calm down.

She gets in, ragging, “You’re too sensitive.” Like that’s a criminal offense.

Her anger never stops. It circulates, accrues interest. She banks outrage. The only solution is to withdraw.

You will say, “I’m gone.” She will cry. You will come back. You just don’t know when.

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