Brian Bosworth
12-5-96
THE SHREW’S THREE CHANCES

In a land as far away as it is near, there was a shrewish old woman. Short, gray-haired, and grumpy, she had no family except for her weak and spineless husband. In their cottage a fair distance from the village, her husband tried his hardest to keep her content and somewhat happy. It was to no avail, though, as she could find fault in even the most perfect of situations.

“This food is intolerable!” she snapped one morning, “How many times have I told you that when you serve me breakfast in bed, I wish it to be warmer than the food in the icebox?”

“I’m sorry,” her husband sniveled, “I will go and warm it again.”

“Don’t bother, my appetite is gone. Leave me now, go and.....try to make yourself useful.” With that he scampered to the safety of the kitchen. Just another cheerful morning in the ongoing marital bliss when one is married to a shrew.

The old man’s plight had come to the attention of a wizard who decided to confront the shrew. So when she opened her wardrobe and found him nestled among her dresses, her reaction was less than favorable. “Herbert!” she shrieked, thinking her husband had somehow found himself in her closet, “Take off that stupid outfit or I’ll have the authorities lock you up again!”

The wizard spoke, “Madame, you have made serious misjudgments. First, I would never have made the mistake of being married to you. Second, you should never anger a wizard, it may prove to be hazardous to your health.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “First, “ she said, mocking his tone, “I only married that crustacean because he lacked the courage to say ‘no.’ Second, wizard’s are as real to me as a useful husband .”

“Madame, I did not come here to discuss beliefs. I have come to inform you that you have but three chances in the next twenty-four hours to improve your current temperament towards life--”

“And if I don’t change? What then?” she interrupted.

“Then the consequences of your actions will be your curse.” Having said that, the wizard disappeared. She wondered to herself if Herbert had spiked her orange juice and thought no more of the incident.

The eleven o’clock sun found Herbert washing the floor for the third time in as many hours. As she came down the stairs, she put the last finishing touches on the futile attempt to render her face young and wrinkle-free. She walked across Herbert’s freshly washed floor, kicking over the bucket of sudsy water in the process. “You missed a spot,” she explained over her shoulder. She sat down at the table and began eating the food her husband had made for himself. “Needs more salt,” she exclaimed, “can’t you do anything right? And clean up that water before someone slips in it.”

She got up and went to the cupboard to retrieve the salt. Upon opening the door, she saw the wizard’s head crammed onto the tiny shelf between the garlic and the nutmeg as if it belonged there. “Oh no, it’s definitely the orange juice,” she said, “now what do you want?”

“Just here to inform you that you just used up your first chance, ta ta!” the wizard disappeared and the salt took his place. Eyeing it carefully she picked it up and looked for him as if expecting him to be hiding behind it. Out of the corner of her eye she caught her husband looking embarrassed by the fact that his wife had been having a conversation with the spice cabinet.

That afternoon, as Herbert was beating the rugs, whispering softly under his breath, “Take that you witch!” his wife came into the room. “Darling, can I get you something to eat?” he asked meekly.

“Yes, but this time make it edible, and no orange juice.” He walked into the kitchen and went to the spice cabinet. She wondered briefly if he would see an apparition too, but he seemed to be in his normal state of obliviousness. “What’s taking you so long?” she exclaimed, “why, in this amount of time I could have made it myself!” He brought out a mouth-watering platter of cheeses, meats, and home-made bread.

“Here you are, my angel,” he said allowing only the smallest bit of sarcasm in his tone. She took a small bite of cheese and spit it out. Then she took the whole platter and threw it on the freshly cleaned floor to the dogs.

“I will not eat it, it is only fit for animals,” she said. Just then, a knock came at the door. “Answer the door,” she commanded. No one was at the door and so Herbert went outside to see who had knocked. Immediately, a breeze blew the door shut and the shrew heard the click of the door locking.

“Madame,” came the familiar voice, this time from the bottom of the water pitcher on the table, “that was your second chance.” She could hear Herbert pounding on the door and pleading to be let in, the wizard continued, “It is in your best interest to change your ways.”

“Change? I’ll show you change, it was about time to change this rancid, hallucinogenic water for some fresh water!” With that she threw the water out the window, drenching her stranded husband. She was content to leave him outside.

Later that night, when she needed a fire to be built she finally let him in. She sat in her rocking chair as he bent over the fireplace struggling to build the fire up to her liking. Smoke began to come into the house. That’s the last straw, she thought to herself, I have been patient long enough! In her rage she began ranting and raving and calling him such things as cannot be published for fear of corrupting the innocent minds of some readers. Herbert turned around just in time to see a cloud of blue smoke filling the room. The wizard appeared in the smoky haze saying, “You had three chances and you used them up. I told you the consequences of your actions would be your curse. Now people will be speaking the truth when they call you a shrew!”

With that, she shrunk down into the furry little rodent people call a shrew. Having done his work, the wizard left as quickly as he came, leaving Herbert with his new pet. He picked her up and put her in a cage and left it by the smoky fire. Then he went to town and immediately proposed to a very large cook in one of the village manors. And he, his new wife, and their pet shrew lived happily ever after (well, two out of three ain’t bad)......

THE END