Pinochio and the Battleaxe

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The Writer's Cramp  (13+) Write the best story or poem in 24 hours or less and win 10K GPs! #333655 by Sophy

Prompt: Write a COMEDY STORY that includes the line: "I cared what she thought of me, so when she dared me to do it, I knew I was in trouble."

The Battleaxe's Fault
1,000 words

My father, Geppeto, used to warn me not to show anyone, but he's not around anymore. Hasn't been for going on a year and half, so I don't know why I started thinkin' about him. But it reminded me of him. He would have been awful mad when he saw what happened.

It really wasn't my fault. My fiancé was in one of those moods, and she looked so cute when she bit her lips like that, and heck, she and me, why we'd only been dating a couple of weeks. Add that to what the Battleaxe from three marriages back said . . .

It fired me up pretty hot, I'll admit. Why I was just raring to toss the Battleaxe into the bottom of a well, but then...

Geez, I have to admit it -- it was my sweet little Bessie that drove me to it. Those green eyes of hers . . . and then she was posin', trying to irritate the old Battleaxe, I suppose, by showing how perky her upper body parts were. She kept thrusting them out like they was growin. Bessie sure didn't have to do that to get to me. Why she was perty as one of them models on the tele, but her doing that distracted me.

Besides, I was irritated about the Battleaxe telling my awful secret to my bride-to-be. Why'd the Battleaxe have to do that? Couldn't she just let sleepin' dogs lie?

It would have all sputtered out to nothin' though if Barbara and Loretta hadn't moseyed over. Why there's nothing worse for a man than to have all three of his former wives standing there lookin' at him with those eyes of theirs all daring me to show them the one thing I didn't want to show Bessie, and then there was Bessie doin' that posin' and lickin' her lips like she was about to pounce on me and do something deliciously nasty.

Why you can't blame a fellow for reactin' like I did, can you?

Anyway, like I said, the Battleaxe started it, Barbara and Loretta threw fat in the fire, and then Bessie -- lovely, luscious Bessie . . .

You see, I cared what she thought of me, so when she dared me to do it, I knew I was in trouble.

I couldn't say "no," you see, but I couldn't say "yes," either. I couldn't show it off. Not on Main Street, and besides, she might not like it if she saw me do that. It might really turn her off

But the Battleaxe started in chanting, "Do it, do it, and the other two old crones took up the chant, and first thing I knew, my sweet little Bessie was eggin' me on, too. It just wasn't fair. No man could stand up to that. No man, you hear me?

I definitely knew better than to show off my stuff in front of the preacher man and his wife, and they was walkin' down the street about then. Over on the right was the dry goods man comin' outside to see all the commotion. I was gonna shoo him back inside, but then Bessie -- sweet, sweet Bessie said that thing -- "I dare you, honey, and that's a double dare, which means I ain't goin' to the movies with you if you don't show us."

Well, that was the last straw. I could hardly control it by then, anyway. With wife numbers one, two, and three, and four-to-be still a chantin' and the eyes of the preacher and that wife of his -- gosh, she's a fine-lookin' woman -- her eyes were daring me, too, and I swear that preacher man's woman done lifted up her skirts just to show me what fine ankles she had.

Why, there weren't no stoppin' it then.

I took one last breath and tried to hold out. I pushed against that feelin'. I really did, but sometimes a man just can't stop reactin' to natural forces. I felt it grow'n, and there was nothin' I could do then. Absolutely nothin'.

I turned away, trying to hide the growth, but it was too late. The Battleaxe knew the signs. She stopped chanting, and my two other former wives both grew quiet. Barbara and Loretta had already seen it, of course, but not Bessie. Not my sweet, young Bessie. She was the one I didn't want to show it to. Nor the preacher man and his foxy woman, and especially not the dry goods man.

But the old Battleaxe wasn't content with just revving me up. It wasn't enough that she'd made it grow. She wanted to display me out in the open. I suppose she wanted to get even just cause I'd traded her in on a new, young wife six years ago.

The Battleaxe reached out and hooked me with her heavy, black umbrella. Before I even knew what she was up to, she'd spun me around to face everyone. Then it was too late to hide. They all saw it -- right out in the open. No way I could hide it. I grabbed at my jacket and tried to cover myself, but the material wouldn't quite reach. I'm pretty big when it starts growing, you see.

The preacher stopped cold. His wife fainted. And the dry goods man? I don't know what happened to him. He wasn't anywhere in sight when I finally got myself back under control.

But it was my sweet Bessie that I was worried about. Poor Bessie! The shock of it was too much for her. She fell into the Battleaxe's arms, sobbin' and clingin' like my ex was her mother.

God has his reasons for doing what He does, and I'm not one to argue against Him, but if only the Battleaxe hadn't started it, and my sweet Bessie hadn't dared me. If only . . .

Ooooooh, if only this darn nose would stop growing every time I got a little bit too excited.


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