Sunday, October 12, 2008

Story A Day: The Cardboard Butterfly War Dolls

I blame this all on Mary Poppins.

You heard me, that no-nonsense British nanny with her voluminous bag and gravity defying umbrella is the villain in my story.

You see, I really liked the part of the movie where Mary Poppins sang about feeding the birds. It was sweet and heartwarming and every time the music started I thought "yes! Yes, Mary Poppins! I will give her tuppence for a bag!" I should have known something was wrong even then, after all...I didn't have a clue what tuppence was. But I didn't recognize the danger and I was indoctrinated into the Mary Poppins school of thought.

It didn't just stop at the willy-nilly giving away of tuppence. I felt the desire to dance on rooftops with manual laborers and fly kites with suffragettes. I developed an uncontrollable fear that my umbrella being turned inside out meant that I had lost a job at a bank. It wasn't long before I was inventing my own words, which as you know, is a dangerous gateway crime.

My thirst for whimsy couldn't be sated. I looked for new adventures around every corner. I met new people. Tried new things. Stopped to dance with passing penguins. But as I grew older I realized that whimsy wasn't just going to happen. I had to make it happen.

They say that once you make the decision to cross that line...there's no coming back. I gotta tell you, it's the truth. The first time I dipped my toes in that pool, well I'm not going to lie to you, it was amazing. Beyond amazing. I couldn't wait to go out and create even more whimsy. Sure, I knew that I should be quiet and dull and spend my days doing my job and wearing sensible shoes. But every time I would get close to coming to my senses, a little voice would whisper about spoons and sugar and like a brainwashed lackey, I'd be back in the saddle of frivolity.

The longer I got away with it, the bigger acts of whimsy I created. It got to the point where I wanted someone to stop me. Life can't all be chalk drawings, you know? I started getting careless. Reckless. The newspaper said it was a cry for help. Maybe that's true. Maybe that's why this last one got so out of hand. So big and bright and...odd.

Maybe I just wanted someone to stop it. Stop me. Stop Mary Poppins before another falls victim to her whimsy.

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