Puck and the Plague

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Think of us as an island of downsized deities in a sea of Rapturous Righties.

We love faeries. Sometimes.

A very feisty faerie named Puck lives here with me. I've had trouble with this pesky guy before.

Exhibit A: Puck the Faerie

Over the weekend, Puck was at his level worst.








Mr. Johnson planned to meet a friend in town for a posh nosh. I wanted to go, because this friend is a super-famous sportswriter (and also an old friend of Mr. Johnson's late, great dad). I hadn't been feeling well all day, but I mustered my strength and got dressed to go.

I had to dress fancy. That's always a challenge when you buy your duds at a thrift store. But I pulled out a half-decent burgundy blazer.

Do not infer from this that my politics are Red.

Puck lives in a glass faerie ball with blue, green, and burgundy highlights. He's very striking. But in order for him to be seen above my blazer, I had to take him off his boy necklace chain and put him on a delicate silver (and very feminine) necklace chain. I warned him not to fuss about it, that all the talk at dinner would be about sports. But the writing was on the wall. On my first attempt to chain him in dainty silver, he fell on the floor. Then when I affixed the necklace to my neck, he was facing backwards and remained that way the whole evening.
Woe betide she who angers a faerie! As Mr. Johnson and I drove into the city, I started feeling sicker and sicker and sicker. It turned out that I had to excuse myself from the table three times before the main course was served. I couldn't touch my entree. Finally, the rebellious Puck and I had to seek the cooler confines of the lobby.

Mr. Johnson cut the evening short, and I know that disappointed him greatly. He didn't say anything mean about it. But I wanted to cry.

Saturday I was so sick I could hardly stagger to the couch to watch Michigan football. (I'm glad I made it.)

About 4:00 that afternoon I remembered that Puck was still hanging on the girlie chain. After the football game, I restored him to his normal chain.

Two hours later I found my precious kitchen scissors (literally missing for months) just sitting out in the open on a shelf. And on Sunday I felt well enough to go to the community book sale, where I found a perfectly battered old copy of The Crystal Cave, by Mary Stewart. It's a classic and I've wanted my own copy for a long time but was unwilling to pay retail. So I got it for a buck. It was lying under the fiction table in a box piled high with other novels. My eyes fell right on it -- and it had no cover.

Would you say Puck made amends?

The point of this true story: Faeries are pistols. If you live with them you know what I mean.

FROM ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS
AREA 14
Art by Seitou exclusive to "The Gods Are Bored." Do not reprint without permission.