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"What's
your name, little girl?"
"She's
a mortal," Jane piped up. "Not your usual dish, Leo. Talk to
her." With that, she left us alone, bouncing off in pursuit of a
passing satyr.
"My
name is Mr. Leonard Skinner, dear, and I'm very pleased to make your
acquaintance." He licked his chapped lips.
"Yes,
I can see that," I glowered. "But you needn't drool."
Too
self-enthralled to realize he had just been insulted, he continued to
talk and comment on my attributes. As he talked, I noticed arms coming
from his sides--there were eight of them! Suddenly he grabbed me with
all the arms (placing the hands quite strategically, I might add) and
tried to kiss me. I struggled, kicked and yelled, but no one seemed to
notice. After a few endless minutes, all eight tentacle-like arms
dropped, as did the jaw of Mr. Skinner. I turned around to look.
A
man with a waxed mustache and goatee stood next to us. But that was not
who my ardorous companion was looking at. In the company of this
oily-looking character were three ladies. (Did I say ladies? I am being
very kind.)
"I,
sir, am Mr. Badfinger," the man said to Leonard, "and I can
provide you with much more willing entertainers than what you have
here." He looked at me, then clucked his tongue in pity, shaking
his head.
It
worked. Leonard backed up quickly, as if he had just discovered he was
touching a leper. I was glad to be let go of, but must admit I was a bit
miffed that he hadn't even thought twice about it.
"Please,
sir," said Mr. Badfinger, "Meet Miss Demeanor, Miss
Understanding, and Miss Adventure." He concluded the introductions
with a lascivious chuckle and a knowing nod.
"Oh,
my, I'm not sure I can handle all three!" The grotesque warlock
raised all eight arms in mock surrender as the girls crowded him.
"Just
have them back in an hour or it will cost you double!" Mr.
Badfinger called after them as they trotted off into the trees,
giggling.
I
looked back defiantly at Mr. Badfinger as he scrutinized every inch of
my body while twisting the end of his mustache between bony fingers. It
was hard to suppress the laughter when he inevitably said, "Have
you ever considered a career in modeling? You see, I'm an artiste and
I'd love to...draw you. Would you like to come and look at my
etchings?" Before he could get through the whole spiel Jane rushed
by, collecting me in her wake.
"What
were you doing with Mr. Badfinger?! He's icky! Not right for you at
all," she gasped in horrified tones. If Jane thought he was
grotesque, he must have really been bad.
"Oh,
here you are, girls." Goldy flitted into the scene. "It's
time for the phish-fry."
"Yummy,"
Jane muttered under her breath as we followed Goldy to the bank of the
Green River. "Phish are like fish, only fishier… or would that be
phishier? Oh, never mind. I prefer fish from the Silver Spring."
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