The MySweetCharity global headquarters was shaken this morning. One of the elves scampered through the compound like Paul Revere: “She’s here! She’s here! She’s here!” There was just a way that the word “she” was shouted that there was no doubt who was indeed here.
As Queenie waddled her way to her throne room, Elder Elf pulled himself together to broach the old dowager.
Like “The Tudors’” Sam Neill, he bowed and gingerly asked, “We have missed your wonderfulness. Pray tell? Have we done something that has prevented your splendor from being with us?”
Snorting into a super-super-strength Puffs like a whale blowing through its blowhole, she looked at Elder through her kryptonite sunglasses.
“I had a fabulous winter. Visited a friend who was building a floating palace in the Mediterranean. Comforted another gal who was shedding her starter husband. Watched another lady who overdosed on plastic surgery. Had no idea that eyebrows could reach to the back of your neck.”
Despite his hunger for more delicious details about the world outside, Elder still noted how none would have warranted Queenie’s cheaters and terribly obvious sniffs.
“But, Ma’am, why do I sense your being not gloriously happy yourself?” Elder asked. He’s a smart old elf.
Queenie pulled off the shades and glowered at Elder saying, “It is a problem that faces only the very special amongst us. Some call it the flu; other say it’s a ‘nasty head cold;’ and still some swear it off as allergies due to the wanton ways of the season. Doesn’t matter. From my shoulders up, I have become the Trevi Fountain. I have been forced to replace my Cristal with NyQuil. How I shudder at that very admission! You and the elves are so fortunate to be so common that you’re not afflicted with this condition.”
With that, Queenie clutched her case of designer-made tissues and her crystal jug of NyQuil and settled into a state of sneezing, wheezing, and overall grumpiness.
Hey! There are times when it ain’t so great to be Queenie.