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I Got Up at 10 A.M.

Short story By: Wilbur
Literary fiction



Oh, humor of course. Late rising but for good reason(s).


Submitted:Feb 9, 2012    Reads: 18    Comments: 5    Likes: 2   


I Got Up at 10 AM ...

I got up at 10 AM but didn't have breakfast until 1:15 PM, which might sound either pretty lazy or pretty boring. And I'm not unhappy to let the other residents of High Seasides pick their take so long as they never guess the truth. That would never do. I get along here okay. But if the knew? See, I was pretty busy in those in between hours.

First, I had to fly to Paduka, NJ to rescue a little girl who'd gotten her braids caught in the playground swing and couldn't get off. She had been sobbing for so long her face was all red and swollen and her nose was running furiously. Worse, all her playmates had run off. I snipped her braids off to free her and helped her down. I hugged her, wiped her nose and face, and gave her her braids, reminding her to put them under her pillow tonight for the Hairy Fairy.

Then I had to zoom to Colorado Springs where a brook trout had gotten itself trapped in a little boy's butterfly net. Both the trout and the little boy were beside themselves. The trout was missing school and would be in trouble for getting in a mesh. The little boy had been trying to capture a small white butterfly that was continuing to circle around him in a teasing taunting fashion, fluttering by first here and then there. I released the trout, which slapped its tail in the water, splashing the little boy before swimming off, none the worse and none the wiser. Then I easily trapped the little flutterby in the boy's net and gave the net back to him with instructions to let the flutterby go when he'd reached home, that it'd learned its lesson and, furthermore, that he was to stay away from water when trying to net butterflies in future!

Finally, I had to make an emergency stop in NYC up by the George Washington Bridge to help an elderly woman catch a cab that would take her home to Brooklyn. None of the cabbies wanted to take her. She didn't look a likely tipper and Brooklyn was a long way to go with no easy fares coming back. Besides, buses were pulling up with lots of folks needing short hauls, promising lots of tips. So I stopped six cabs at once and let her choose her driver. She chose a big green taxi. I sent them off, her settled happily in the back seat, the driver beaming happily over the four-leaf clover I had laid on the seat beside him after running his meter backward so his last two jobs weren't on the record, the money was his, and her ride was free.

That's why I didn't have my breakfast until it was 1:15 PM. When I did get back home I made me a stack of 10 buckwheat pancakes and ate every one of them, each with a large pat of soft butter and a lake of genuine Vermont Maple Syrup - a weakness of mine. With the dishes done, I lay down for a nap. My friends think I nap a lot. But they just don't know, do they?





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