"So, are fairies allowed
to do that?"
by Kathleen Kersch Simandl
The man strode into
the convention-center ballroom. Or, one might possibly say, "staggered." However you would describe his rolling gait, it was clear that this was a man of the
sea. His jaunty cap was pulled low over his eyes, his tar-flap middy blouse well
worn, and he clenched a short corn-cob pipe between his teeth. The sailor surveyed
the expansive room with its stage, dance floor, and multitude of round, draped tables; he waved to someone in the far corner,
and was just about ready to pass through the double doors, when he caught a movement in the corner of his eye. It was a small fairy hovering over his left-hand shoulder. Drawing
his formidable right forearm back in preparation to swat, the sailor heard a tiny, squeaky voice, "Don't even THINK about
The sailor dropped
his arm as quickly as he'd raised it, and studied the fairy. She was comely enough,
in a little sort of way. Kinda resembles somebody famous, he thought. But, he couldn't quite put his finger on exactly who. The
miniscule creature buzzed around Popeye's head so that he only got brief glances of her face and clothes - tight tunic and
shorts with jagged hems, over tights. Hm-m-m, thought the rugged sea master.
She didn't look like she'd dressed up too much for this affair, either. But,
Popeye liked the fact that everything the fairy wore was green. He thought longingly
of spinach hors d'oeuvres.
When the little creature
finally settled down and lit on the top edge of one of the open doors, Popeye introduced himself, bowing with exaggerated
deepness. "The name's Tinkerbell," she replied, "Didn't you know?" She pulled the slit neckline on her tunic a little lower, and fluffed her short, spiky hair. "Everyone tells me I look exactly like Julia Roberts." And, she lowered her eyes in anticipation of the
But, nothing. When Tinkerbell looked up, she was both surprised and chagrined to see Popeye already
rolling his way across the dance floor. Apparently aimed toward a horrid-looking
big woman with an absurdly tight bun and the most clunky boots Tink had ever seen. The
nerve! she thought.
Then, clearing her
throat with a sound like the motor in a match-box car, she flew directly toward the microphone set up on the stage. "ATTENTION BELIEVERS!" she shouted, and every head in the
ballroom turned toward her. Tink buzzed around the mike in agitation. "It has come to my attention... "she spoke rapidly. "...that
fairies are no longer being accorded the attention and deference which we ALL know they are DUE!" A few titters and even a guffaw erupted in the crowd of party-goers.
"SILENCE!" she commanded. "This is not a laughing matter, and all of you
gay people out there can just SHUT UP!!" Tinkerbell screamed, becoming very red
in her tiny face. She buzzed around the stage a few times to cool down. Then, screeching to a stop directly in back of the microphone, and grabbing it with
both arms she fervently begged, "Please. Please.
If you still believe in fairies, clap your hands.... NOW, please!
A scattering of claps
came from the crowd, then more... the applause swelling until it covered almost every other sound in the huge room. Tink was pleased, but not wholly satisfied. Standing on top
of the mike, rolling back on her heels, hands on her hips, she slowly looked from side to side. "OK," she said, "Good enough…"
"But who the hell
There was a stunned
silence in the ballroom - everyone covertly appraising his neighbors. Finally,
the silence was broken when the gangly-looking woman with The Bun stabbed Popeye in the ribs with her elbow. The sailor looked betrayed, but muttered, "I yam what I yam."
jetted over to hover directly in front of his eyes. "You." She spat out each word individually. "Are. Despicable." The
woman, Olive Oyl, nodded sympathetically, but was nonetheless shocked when Popeye ground his toe in the floor, then shyly
offered the fairy a ride home after the party.
on the very tip of the high centerpiece of the nearest round table, and drew herself up to her very tallest. "No thank you...Spinach-breath," she replied, her words dripping with ice. "I'd rather fly."