Simplia’s feet got stuck half-way to the toe of her Wellingtons.
“Suggestion,” said Sagacia. “Take out the socks you stuffed inside the last time you wore them.”
“Ah! Sound advice,” Simplia said. In no time she was booted and busy working the toggles on her raincoat and casting about for the umbrella. “We lost the buttercup umbrella, but I know the Sistine Chapel one is around here somewhere.”
Sagacia sat still and watched.
“The post office closes in ten minutes, it’s raining outside, and there’s still snow left over from last week’s blizzard. Why this urgency to slog to the post office?”
“Think about it. It’s the third of the month. The mailmouse left us nothing but a packet of coupons for stuff we never buy; nothing of import has wafted down the chimney; neither of us has brought any scraps of paper in on the bottoms of our shoes; and none of our books has favored us with a loose leaf into our laps; and while I enjoyed my twig tea immensely, there were no leaves to read. So I’m thinking it might be a good idea to check in at the post office to see if any mail was delivered there today for Vasilisa.”
“Heavens! You’re right. It totally slipped my mind, what with all the Groundhog Day festivities yesterday. I’ve been distracted. Well…let’s be on our way.”
As Sagacia headed for the coat closet, the Simpletons’ computer gave a little “bing!”
“Squirrel!” said Simplia. “We gotta focus. Let’s go.”
Ten minutes later, wet and disappointed, the Simpletons arrived back home, empty-handed. There was nothing at the post office. Nothing on the bulletin board on the porch of the Fairy Tale Lobby. The magical 3rd of the month was almost over. How would they occupy themselves for the remainder of the month if there were no question to ponder, no conundrum to consider, no raison d’etre for two Simpletons and a blog?
While Simplia put the kettle on and retrieved the tea cosy from the dishtowel drawer, Sagacia sat down dispiritedly at the computer and trolled through her social network. Oh! There was that unread message. Upon further inspection, she saw that it had been sent originally to Csenge Zalka, the Simpletons’ favorite Hungarian storyteller, who had forwarded it on to Vasilisa the Wise.
Amy in Amityville
Simplia regarded Sagacia for a moment as Sagacia regarded Simplia. Simultaneously they shouted, “We’re friends!” And then they remembered: They were fictitious, not folkloric. With a sigh, they said, “So…first thing tomorrow, we poll our Magical Friends and see what they can come up with for female fairytale friendships.
Cuppa tea?” asked Simplia.
Sagacia said, “Please! Chamomile. For bedtime.”