Morpethroad

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Miss Marble of No 46 Grimace Street, woke up not feeling Fresh so ordered Fresh out of her bed and into the garden to do what it did best. She didn’t feel much like Stale either who occupied the attic for obvious reasons. She was somewhere in between when she heard her front door being rattled.

Dragging herself out of her bed, she threw on her dressing gown and grumbling to herself about being disturbed so early, made her way to the door.

There stood her Swedish Neighbour, Mans Mikeinsop, from No 3 Grimace Street, tears streaming down his face and generally looking not his usual cheerful self.

Two nights before Miss Marble has been to Mans’ place for dinner and watched him prepare the most delicious chilli con carne. She marvelled at his ability as he literally threw the ingredients together in true Swedish chef style with lots of “hedidoodeheywoowoodidoodywhohheddoooetydy” while the pasta flew in all directions and the chilli did as chill does.

She found it an education and warmed to Mans as a person and as a chef.

Right now, though she was confronted by a crying Swedish neighbour. The moment she asked Mans what the problem was she knew it was not the right question.

“Hedihedihidehiseeishhedididehi Marbell,” cried the emotional Mans.

Miss Marble raised her hand and the by now sobbing Mans Mikeinsop stopped.

“Now Mans,” said Miss Marble, “slow down and tell me your problem. I may well be the best witch you’ve ever known, but I need to hear you, to know, what to do for you. Now slowly, what is the problem?”

“Oh, Miss Marbell,” he sighed, “I have forgotten that today is the Swedish National Pasta Sucking Day and my pasta maker has sucked the grub. And I always celebrate our national days. My mother home in Malmo, Sweden, will be expecting photos and a video of me sucking the pasta. My mother is a big one for the slurp Miss Marbell.”

“Can’t you use pasta from the shop?” asked Miss Marble trying to find a quick, easy solution.

“No,” wailed Mans Mikeinsop, “it has to be freshly made, by your own hands.” At that Mans went into the panic one sees in people who don’t see alternative solutions. There was a lot more of the “Hedihedihidehiwoowoohisishhedididehi” before Miss Marble raised her hand to him again.

“Here now,” said Miss Marble feeling all sympathetic, “you Scandinavians have some odd celebratory days don’t you. Borrow my pasta maker I won’t be using it today. Here take it and go suck that pasta up.”

She handed Mans her pasta maker, and he was ever so grateful as he made his way down her front steps and headed off in the direction of his place at No 3 Grimace Street.

Content that she had sent Mans away to do with her pasta maker as he needed to she settled herself down in her kitchen, kettle on and the prospect of a hearty breakfast.

Within the house, she could hear Stale in the attic, cursing the new day and his confined quarters, normal for him and out in the garden Fresh was speaking to the plants and shrubs encouraging them as Fresh always did. All was good in the world until her phone rang. It was Mans, the pasta maker was working better than Mans expected. It was out of control; the pasta was wrapping itself around the unsuspecting Swede. Soon she heard him utter he’d be covered from head to toe. “The slurping,” she heard him cry as his voice became more and more indistinguishable until there was nothing but a gurgling sound in her ear.

Goodness thought Miss Marble and then suddenly remembered the pasta machine she had infused with a binding spell, and she’d forgotten to unbind it.

Grabbing her rolling pin and kitchen shears, she set off at a pace to Mans’ place.

The Swedish National Pasta Sucking Day might have to wait this year she thought as she hurried along.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/08/03/tale-weaver-131-go-ahead-make-my-day-3-8-17/