Maddy was a beautiful woman. Ringlets of blond hair framed her perfect face. Her sky-blue eyes made even Raoul the florist’s knees go weak. However, as for intelligence, she was a couple bells short of Quasimodo.
She decided her best bet for happiness was to marry a rich, older man.
Hiram Grey was the opposite of Maddy. Intelligent, but ugly. Beady eyed, uneven lipped. But his most prominent feature was his nose. It was so big, he’d suck all the air out a small room, and others would faint due to a lack of oxygen.
That didn’t stop the 21 year old Maddy from marrying him. It wasn’t long before an awful truth set in. Hiram was a tightwad, and Maddy was forced to live on less money than she’d have made cleaning toilets.
Her only hope was for him to kick the bucket, which according to her, should have been any day. “After all,” she thought. “he’s as old as dirt . . . 65, to be exact.”
Er. . . Did I mention Maddy wasn’t the brightest?
On top of that, people said Hiram suffered from some dreaded disease- Hypochondria. Surely this would claim his life, and let her inherit the millions.
But no. Years passed.
In her anguish, Maddy turned to two men for comfort- Ben and Jerry. A pint of ice cream every night helped ease her pain. Before long, her inflating figure gave new meaning to the term, Chunky Monkey.
“Why won’t he just die!” There were plenty of near misses; times when bouts with his disease brought the ambulance to their house. As a matter of fact, it came so often, the EMTs wanted to set up a substation there.
Thirty years went by. Over two thousand trips to the hospital. NOTHING! Hiram clung to life.
Then came the one time Maddy refused to call the ambulance. “You’re not choking. It’s all in your head.”
Alas, it wasn’t. Hiram finally succumbed to a lump of potato, stuck in his throat.
The mourners gathered at a cemetery, set on such a steep hill that the undertaker had to put extra supports on one end of the casket to keep it in place.
Everyone glared at Maddy. She knew what they were all thinking; that she’d killed him!
Poor girl. After all, all she did was marry for money and wish her husband dead. Was that so bad? . . . Let’s not answer that.
Maddy stood there, chewing on her pudgy bottom lip. “I have to do something to show I loved the old coot.” In a desperate move, she threw her 300 pound girth on the casket, pressed her head against it, and sobbed uncontrollably. “O Hiram. Why did you die so young?”
Young? Ha! He was 95.
Something thudded against the cheap pine box. The other mourners gasped. Maddy looked up. If she’d been in her right mind, she’d have simply seen a silly looking stuffed moose, dressed in a cowboy outfit.
But no, looking square into the beast’s snout, she saw Hiram, come back from the dead. She screeched and fell forward, slamming into the support holding the casket in place. It snapped and she slid into the grave.
Maddy looked up in time to see the casket roll away. It raced down the hill. The moose’s foot was stuck in a hinge. It rode atop the box, its parachute fluttering like superman’s cape in the breeze. Winding through the gravestones, it proceeded out of the cemetery, leaped over an embankment and landed on a passing freight train, headed for Canada. Hiram (and the moose) were never seen again.
Moe and Zeb had a bird’s eye view of this spectacle from the airplane. They too headed for Canada, also never to be seen again. However, evidence of Moe’s existence kept popping up.
A well dressed Caribou would stroll out of the woods every now and then.
If you’d like to meet some local authors, and discuss dressing moose, join us on November 1st for the “Meet & Greet Local Christian Authors”. To find out more, go to http://www.EventBrite.com and enter “Meet & Greet Local Christian Authors” in the SEARCH box. If you prefer to speak with someone, call Clarice James 603-578-1860 or email her at firstname.lastname@example.org.