“Woo hoo, Thursday today, Nora,” Wilma reminded her.
“Hmm, hairdo’s at pensioner prices. What could be more satisfying?”
“Don’t say that, you know Dotty hates being classified a ‘pensioner’,” mocked Wilma.
Nora smiled to herself, “And the Hawthorne Chronicle is out today. We’ll be able to check on the Wise Owl’s agony column. It’s your turn to drive and Dotty’s turn to pay for lunch.”
Wilma pulled up outside Dotty’s cottage and tooted her horn. Nora looked at her wristwatch to see how long they’d have to wait. Surprise, surprise, Dotty came rushing out on a heartbeat. As she slid into the back seat her broad smile made both her friends nervous.
Nora turned around to look at her. “Have you something to say? You look pleased with yourself.”
Dotty brushed imaginary fluff of her dark slacks. “I did three chapters on my autobiography yesterday.”
Wilma eyed her through the rear-view mirror. “Are you coming to the juicy bits, then?”
“Oh heaven’s no. I did that in the second chapter.”
Nora and Wilma eyed each other.
Dotty rubbed her hands together, “The Wise Owl reports today. I’m dying to see what Mrs Frizby has to advise.”
“Strange you mention it, Nora and I were discussing it earlier.
When the trio arrive at the Blue Bells Restaurant, they grabbed their copy of the chronicle. The waiter acknowledged them with a nod and went to place their order.
As they sat at their usual table, Wilma licked her finger and flicked through the pages. “Oh dear, Wise Owl must be losing popularity – it’s been relegated to page five.”
Dotty peered over to peek at Wilma’s copy, then turned to page five.
Wilma read aloud.
“Dear Wise Owl,
I am in dire straits. My husband is in the navy and has been out to sea for fourteen months. I’ve discovered I’m three months pregnant. How would you suggest I handle my predicament?
Dear Bumble Bee:
Naughty, naughty. Tell him you’ve had an immaculate conception. Make sure to call the baby either Joseph or Mary.
“That’s blasphemy. Surely, Mrs. Frizby should know better. I bet there will be a few complaints about this,” Nora was shocked.
“Bollocks, there’s nothing blasphemous about it. We all know Mary had an immaculate conception,” defended Dotty.
“Yes I know, but Bumble Bee is not Mary,” Nora argued.
“Listen to this next one,” Wilma said.
“Dear Wise Owl,
The morning I turned sixty years old was the worst day of my life. I discovered a few wrinkles. HELP!
Dear Heaven Forbid:
I know the feeling honey – get yourself a tube of anusol cream. If it can shrink piles, it can get rid of wrinkles.
Dotty laughed. “Mrs. Frizby should adhere to her own advice. She looks a dried prune.”
Nora and Wilma eyed Dotty with suspicion. “Do you remember, before we went on that disastrous holiday to Brazzina, and you ruined my epidermis in the sun bed you borrowed?”
Dotty’s face went red. Somehow she knew what Wilma was coming to.
“And when I was worried about my wrinkles – you suggested I use anusol cream.”
“That’s ridiculous. Of course I didn’t. We all know what anusol cream is for. It’s your imagination.”
The waiter served their lunch. Dotty quickly folded the chronicle and put in on the empty chair beside her. Wilma and Nora continued reading.
Dear Wise Owl,
I am fifty-four years old and still a virgin. I cannot seem to find Mr. Right. Am I being too picky?
Dear Virgin Dilemmas:
At your age, you should conclude Mr. Right doesn’t exist. Change your tactic honey, and find yourself a young stud to break you in. Trust me, it will be orgasmic.
Wilma slapped the paper with the back of her hand. “This is bloody ridiculous. The Wise Owl column should be banned or the Chronicle classified X rated. Do you know how many children read this crap – how the Wise Owl is polluting their innocent minds?”
“I agree with you Wilma. We should go and complain to Mrs. Frizby.” Nora turned and faced Dotty, “Are you coming with us?”
Dotty rubbed the side of her nose, “Oh, Mrs. Frizby is away. Mervyn from No. 56 mentioned she’ll be gone for six weeks.”
Nora frowned, she’s certain she saw Mrs. Frizby in the supermarket the other day.
Dotty quickly changed the subject. “Why haven’t you enquired about Purdy?”
“I was about to, but this garbage here,” Wilma pointed to the Chronicle, “side-tracked me.”
“Okay, do tell us. When are you going on your amazing date?” Nora asked in a bored tone.
Dotty smiled, “A week tomorrow. I’m so excited.”
Wilma winked at Nora, “Hmm, gives you time to get a bikini wax.”
“Yea that reminds me, you never showed us his photograph.” Nora said.
“Forget the photograph, wait until I introduce you to him. He’ll knock your socks off.”
“More like your knickers, Dotty.” Wilma giggled.