Cycling on the pavement may be hazardous to your health.
A final bit of February fiction
Miss Marjorie Expects
“Will you get off the pavement, young man? Some of us have places we need to be.”
The stout woman who was hugging a large red handbag to her considerable bosom threw her best Thursday glare at the young lad on the scooter who was attempting to share the pavement with her wide body.
“What, your dinner?” The lad sniggered.
“Hand!” the woman shouted .Before the lad knew what was happening, she reached into her bag, pulled out a ruler, and delivered three sharp cracks on the boy’s right knuckles.
“Ow!” he cried, dropping his scooter in surprise, and pain. “What was that for?”
“The first one was for cycling on the footpath; the second, for being rude to a lady about her weight, and the third for being a cheeky little blighter.”
“What are you, a teacher? Or some kind of headmistress?”
The woman pulled herself up to her not-very-considerable height. “I am Miss Marjorie Jane Banks, retired Assistant Head of Our Lady of Perpetual Motion.”
The boy nursed his bruised hand. “I weren’t cycling, I was … scootering.”
Whack! Whack! went the ruler.
“Ow! Ow!” said the boy. “What was that for?”
“Another for cheekiness, and another for bad grammar. “And – “ She reached out, and struck him a third time.
“Ow! And that one?”
“For making me late to my local chapter meeting of the NSPCC.”
Miss Banks smiled. She was a retired school head, that much was true. She was also a splendid liar. It just wouldn’t do, telling the boy she was running late to her first day as Miss Marjorie, Dominatrix Extraordinaire.
Fossgate, York, earlier this year.
If you enjoyed this story, check out my short story collection “What! No Pudding?” available on Amazon. Another collection,”Koi Carpe Diem” is planned for later this year.
