A Story By Lorraine Weightman.
I woke up in such a state. My head was fuzzy and I could taste something strange and sweet. Looking out of the window I appeared to be at the edge of a wood and there was a faint sound of an owl hooting in the distance.
That’s strange I thought, I can’t remember drinking that much Tequila last night!
I attempted to get up and stretch myself into the morning, and to my surprise I was only wearing a short red top that was struggling to cover the large belly I seemed to have grown overnight!
‘That’s it!’
I promised myself
‘I’m never drinking again!’
as I tripped over a tiny pink object that squealed when it woke up.
‘You don’t look the same!’
The pink object said in a high pitched voice.
‘You’ve changed since yesterday’
On closer inspection I realised the pink object resembled an animal, wearing, what looked like a striped play suit and it was staring at me with wide eyes.
‘I don’t know where I am’,
I stammered, looking down at my newly acquired furry arms and legs.
‘Are there any mirrors in this God forsaken place?’
The little timid pink thing who was protesting that he wanted his friend back instead of me started weeping all over my furry feet.
‘Is this some kind of nightmare?’
I added.
He pointed with his minute hand, as I waddled over to the the dresser, to make sure I wasn’t dreaming the whole thing.
Yes there I was, with a big fat yellow face and matching arms and legs sticking out of a shrunken jumper.
‘Now I get it’,
I reflected, realising I’d fallen into the pages of a story, and of all the characters to be, I’m this one!
Why couldn’t I be Rapunzel, Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty, who all ended up living happily ever after with handsome princes!?
I’m now stuck in this story with a whingeing little pig and in due course, no doubt, a grumpy pessimistic donkey, an irritable rabbit and a ridickerous bouncing tiger will arrive!
I might just step out for a minute to see if the bad tempered owl can point me in the direction of the storyteller to see if I can be released.
Feeling a tad peckish and patting my tummy, I retrieved the jar of hunny from the larder and scooped out a huge paw full.
Oh no, I’m starting to sound and act like this silly character.
Striding out as fast as my little legs could carry me, I knew I was heading in the direction of The Hundred Acre Wood.
I could hear breathing and footsteps behind me, as the annoying little pig was close and following.
‘Pooh, wait!
He wailed
‘I’m your best friend, don’t leave me, I’m sorry!’
‘For goodness sake, I’m trying to get out of this story!’
I cried,
‘I don’t want any hangers on!’
However, he took no notice and kept pace, two steps behind me.
When I reached Owl’s tree – which seemed to take hours – as my legs are so short, I called out his name.
He shouted a reply,
‘Come back tonight when I’m awake’,
Intent on not taking no for an answer, I insisted he find me the storyteller. Ruffling his feathers, he tutted and said he could possibly have a word with Christopher Robin and ask him to contact his father.
‘Look Owl’,
I shouted
‘Get him now, I want out!’
Just then I felt a little tug on my jumper.
‘It takes nothing to be nice’
said Piglet,
‘You used to be lovely’
Furious, I exclaimed,
‘I’m not your friend, I’ve been put here by mistake, I need to escape from this story’
‘But Pooh’,
said my new little mate,
‘Remember when I asked you how to spell ‘love’ and you said,
‘You don’t spell love, you feel it! Don’t you feel that now?’
Turning to face the tiny piglet, my eyes filled with emotion.
I smiled and thought to myself,
Maybe being in this story isn’t going to be so bad.
After all, I have a larder full of tequila flavoured Hunny!
