The Tattered Teapot

by Bradford Hodgkins

Dolly Sparrow had always loved dirty Falmouth with its blue-eyed, bored beaches. It was a place where she felt happy.

She was a smelly, spiteful, tea drinker with vast feet and blonde ankles. Her friends saw her as a witty, worried writer. Once, she had even jumped into a river and saved a spotty baby flamingo. That’s the sort of woman he was.

Dolly walked over to the window and reflected on her beautiful surroundings. The hail pounded like eating monkeys.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Ruth Thornton. Ruth was a kind lawyer with ugly feet and curvy ankles.

Dolly gulped. She was not prepared for Ruth.

As Dolly stepped outside and Ruth came closer, she could see the powerless glint in her eye.

Ruth gazed with the affection of 2907 giving thoughtless tortoises. She said, in hushed tones, “I love you and I want some more Facebook friends.”

Dolly looked back, even more ambivalent and still fingering the tattered teapot. “Ruth, I am your father,” she replied.

They looked at each other with fuzzy feelings, like two manky, many maggots boating at a very understanding wedding, which had drum and bass music playing in the background and two down to earth uncles rampaging to the beat.

Dolly studied Ruth’s ugly feet and curvy ankles. Eventually, she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” began Dolly in apologetic tones, “but I don’t feel the same way, and I never will. I just don’t love you Ruth.”

Ruth looked irritable, her emotions raw like a great, grieving gun.

Dolly could actually hear Ruth’s emotions shatter into 5275 pieces. Then the kind lawyer hurried away into the distance.

Not even a cup of tea would calm Dolly’s nerves tonight.

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