Oh What a Beautiful Morning!

Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day
I have a beautiful feeling; everything’s going my way…

Dotty sang off key, on top of her voice. The decibel of high notes were enough to cause perceptible pain and suffering to a passer-by.

She glanced at the clock. “Bollocks, I’m late again,” she cursed as she grabbed her handbag, locked the front door and rushed to the gate. Nora had tooted her arrival five minutes before.

“Morning Dotty,” Nora and Wilma greeted.

“Sorry, I’m a bit late. So much to do and so little time to do it.”

Wilma rolled her eyes. So typical, always late. Fortunately, she’d made the hairdressing appointments for half an hour later. She leant forward in the back seat and tapped Dotty on the shoulder. “How is your autobiography coming along?”

“Extremely well, considering I had to exclude you two.”

A relieved Nora eyed Wilma in her rear view mirror and winked, “I’m pleased to hear that Dotty. Is fifty years of friendship really worth the despicable seeds of your wild imagination?”

“I ditto that,” replied Wilma.

“Humph, it would’ve been interesting but I reckon I still have a best seller.”

After the hairdos and manicures, they headed to the Blue Bells restaurant. They each grabbed a copy of the Hawthorne Heights Chronicle, eager to read what the Wise Owl had to say.

“The usual ladies?” the waiter asked.

Dotty glared at him, “Young man, we’ve been coming here for years: we order the same every time. What don’t you understand?”

He scowled, turned on his heels and walked toward the kitchen.

“Chill Dotty. What’s eating you? You’re bloody rude and now he’ll probably spit in your food,” Wilma chided her.

Dotty flicked a manicured hand, “I apologize. I don’t know what got to me.”

“Sexual deprivation if you ask me,” Nora laughed.

Wilma giggled as she scoured her eyes over the chronicle. “Look, page three. The Wise Owl,” she pointed out. Dotty and Nora quickly opened the page.

“Oh my gawd, this is ridiculous. Listen to this,” Wilma read aloud.

“Dear Wise Owl,
My problem is embarrassing. My husband of 30 years wants a penile enlargement. I’m worried he’ll become dysfunctional. How can I dissuade him?
Small Dick.
Dear Small Dick:
While I sympathise with you, check his mobile phone, text messages and emails. He has a young girlfriend.
Wise Owl.”

Nora and Wilma burst out laughing. “This is bloody ridiculous. How does this idiotic Wise Owl know he has a girlfriend?” Dotty was pan faced.

“Listen to this one,” Nora said in excitement.

“Dear Wise Owl,
My husband is due to retire next year. What can you suggest to occupy his time without driving me to dementia?
Dreaded Thought.
Dear Dreaded Thought:
Buy him an apron, rubber gloves and a collection of recipe books. In the meantime, take up bridge and mah-jong lessons.
Wise Owl.”

“That’s ludicrous. What good is an apron and recipe books to a man?” Nora asked.
Dotty peered at the question. “I think it’s reasonable. She plays bridge and mah-jong: he does the cleaning and cooking to occupy himself.”

“Oh, I never thought of it in that vein.”

“Nora, you’re renowned not to think,” Dotty pointed out.

“Listen up, this takes the cake.” Wilma read it out.

“Dear Wise Owl,
What would you advise if you discovered your husband wants a sex change?
Cherry-Pie.
Dear Cherry-Pie:
A difficult question to answer without knowing the full history. My psychic abilities tell me you are the person wanting this and me to sanction it. Get Real man!
Wise Owl.”

“Phew that’s harsh. Imagine a sex change,”  commented Nora.

“This is bizarre. The Wise Owl is a fraud. I’m going to write to the editor and complain. There’s not an iota of psychological advice and it’s obvious her psychic abilities are hogwash!” Wilma said.

Dotty, about to take a mouthful of her shepherd’s pie asked, “How can you make a derogatory statement like that? Mrs. Frizby won’t be pleased.”

Wilma eyed her. “You surprise me. Normally, you’d disagree with the balderdash printed. Moreover, you haven’t contributed a single comment. I know ‘its’ psychic abilities are rubbish because I emailed that question and I am female!” Wilma slapped the chronicle with the back of her hand. “To add further, I’m certain it’s not Mrs. Frizby because she’s far more intelligent than this baloney.”

Dotty choked on her food.

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